I get an hour and a half at the coffeeshop today. I’m thinking in very short sentences because my baby don’t sleep, and I’m hanging out, waiting. Sleep deprivation is trying to be my friend, and some days I’m all like “C’mere big guy, let’s quit this stupid fighting and just have as much coffee as forever is possible.” But most days I’m more like [snnaaarl].

Little things, trying to accept the temporary present and beckon the mutable future. Like coming to the coffeeshop in the middle of a weekday to work on poems. I don’t really have anything to say, nothing anyone should read. I finally picked up Louise Erdrich’s The Blue Jay’s Dance, like I should have months ago, and while the sadness and desperation she felt postpartum resonated, for me, her long passages of abstract thought on previous owners of her house, the flora and fauna around her house, her feelings about cats, etc., were frustrating. She mentions postpartum rage and loneliness, evocatively, with genuine feeling & a light touch, but moves on after a few paragraphs so she can talk more about how she’s friends with her mailman. I don’t really get it. But then, she’s writing afterward. I’m during.

So, I think being kind of depressed and desperate, these past few weeks, and so dissatisfied with Erdrich’s book, is doing something in me. I’m crying a lot more, which I think is good, and generally feeling more. As in, a larger variety of emotions, rather than just rage and happiness.

Anyways, I’ll get back to living soon. In the meantime, I get to edit poems today…