It’s been a year full of changes.  One more realization: they all are.  I want to learn how to live gracefully.

I didn’t go in to my office today, but came down to Java instead.  Determined to turn myself inside out.  After living a few weeks like a tough broad, reprimanding and advising, walking briskly (so much of that!), and feeling like my shoulder blades were hardening into some kind of shell or fused wing-casing, I kind of called it a week, yesterday.  Watched the US Jamaica game with Marshall.  One-nil, us.  Howard played solitaire the whole time.

So, here’s a triumphant morning: I’ve written already, found books to read for my exams, and am reading quietly through Grist submissions.  I’m trying to write a poem a day (actual requirement for the colloquium I’m in this semester), and have some up with some good stuff … and most of the work I’m reading for this litmag is also good.  It’s inspiring in one sense: other people are doing what I’m doing.  And still, I’m not sure that school for writing — at least not the way this program is set up — is a good idea.  I’m not sure litmags are so important, either.  So, what then?

I don’t know if any practicing poets read my blog.  But if any of you have thoughts on this, leave a note.  What use is publishing poetry?  It’s beautiful, sitting here in the window, warming up in midmorning sunlight, reading poems offered up by strangers.  It’s also beautiful, that my friends want to read what I write.  Is this about it, then?  Or should I make a habit of mailing poems out to strangers?  Do they think it’s beautiful, to sit in their offices and read my work?

In other news, my new laptop’s screen is like a mirror.  Have to work hard to see what I’m writing, here.  But there are my very bright shoulders and my tiny gold ring.

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