Ah. Poetry, then.
Opened up my trusty little notebook this morning to get my bearings on the day's writing, only to discover that apparently someone was writing "poetry" on her ride home from work last night. Hrm. My feelings about poetry (particularly as it relates to me) are largely antagonistic; generally I consider it something I did when I was thirteen, and thank whatever helpful sprite (or whichever one of my brothers, the blackmailing bastards) it was that carried off those "poems" at some point, meaning I never have to read them again. Hopefully no one does.
(Perhaps there's a chamber of hell wherein one must read eternally the poetry of adolescent girls?)
Yet when I'm semi-delusional from hunger, exhausted from work, just a wee bit tipsy, and in a general state of on-the-subway-at-half-three-in-the-morning - wham! Poetry!
I'm not going to share said "poems." It's for the best. This is just by way of warning: beware poetry. It can catch you up unawares.
(Perhaps there's a chamber of hell wherein one must read eternally the poetry of adolescent girls?)
Yet when I'm semi-delusional from hunger, exhausted from work, just a wee bit tipsy, and in a general state of on-the-subway-at-half-three-in-the-morning - wham! Poetry!
I'm not going to share said "poems." It's for the best. This is just by way of warning: beware poetry. It can catch you up unawares.