Picking a Winner

PW was much better tonight (for me, personally). I'm having a love-hate relationship with the class, but am trying to consider the weaknesses in my poetry that it's forcing me to face instead of feeling superior to my classmates for what I have dubbed their "preoccupation with linear progression."

I picked a poem to workshop tonight that was very simple, difficult to misconstrue--so that the critique could focus on the language and the structure of the language.
I got my professor's comments back on the quatrain I submitted last week. She felt that it was a good start, but noted several weaknesses. I couldn't have agreed more. It was forced and wobbly, but that's to be expected. Writing in form (at first) is like learning to write in cursive. Your first attempt is definitely something, but it looks like crap.

Is it time for the weekend already?

I am much better rested after taking a mental health day yesterday. In so doing, I missed some fun office hijinx (morale-improvement exercises), but I'm not upset. Being in my own space yesterday did me a world of good. And all my water-damaged goods are dry and in fairly usable condition again--even that book for my class. I was going to just buy a new one,but the one I have currently is still readable. I cannot afford to shell out 12 dollars for something I just spent 12 dollars to buy.

Speaking of money, I need to go and mail my bills.

In other news, the romance novel is coming along. My characters have "done it!"

Water Logged

The rain went from nuisance to nasty bastard as the day wore on. By the time I got home (another late bus in the afternoon), I discovered that the Appelfeld novel that we will be reading and discussing next in 20th Century World Literature was completely soaked. Apparently, I had not zipped my tote bag soon enough, and a significant amount of water had gotten in, even under my umbrella (maybe from my umbrella, who knows?) The two cds that Gordon gave me for my past two birthdays were in that bag, and their inserts are also swollen with rain, not to mention my leather butterfly purse, which is water stained. I just spent some time blow drying the book. It seems to have helped some, but the damage is done. I don't even know if all of the pages will separate once it dries. I'm tempted to feel pissed, but I know it was my own carelessness that is the culprit. Items that were in zipped compartments stayed dry, and are in perfect condition.

About four people were missing from class tonight--it was truly despicable weather in which to be traveling. The only way not to get soaked is to stay inside. The discussion was okay, but I felt out of sorts. I contributed to the conversation, but didn't feel as much "on fire" as I did last week.

I thought I detected some low grade flirtation between the prof and a woman in the class--definitely on her end anyway, just before we got started. I felt a twinge of something. Perhaps low grade jealousy to correspond to their mild, but palpable attraction. Now that I am writing this out, I see that my reaction had to do with the fact that I felt very validated by his affirmations of my points last week and to see him nonverbally validating another woman made me feel that my experience was undermined somehow. It's textbook...

London Fog

What a wonky morning! My first bus was late (you knew this story would involve a late bus, didn't you?) so I missed my connection, which costed me 15 minutes of just standing around waiting in humid, foggy, rainy weather on the corner of St. Paul and Biddle for the next one. All told, not so bad, I was a mere 15 minutes late to work... but, I get to work, and there is no creamer for the coffee, which means no coffee for Kate. Arrgh! If I want coffee (and who are we kidding? I do want coffee) I will have to leave my cool, dry office to go and get a cup from Whole Foods.

I am not looking forward to having to be out in these miserable conditions tonight, but there may be something romantic about discussing the Kafka finale on a rainy night... or, it could just be annoying. Either way, I am making a vow that I will not leave my umbrella in class tonight like I did before. I left behind my really awesome one, that someone made off with directly, of course. Well this one is a London Fog, and I'd rather get to class sopping wet because I left it at home than lose it.

In other news, I am eating a pumpkin bagel and it's delicious.

I got together with a friend and former roommate yesterday that I probably shouldn't have. She is one of those people who belongs in the category of those with whom it is not easy to interact for long periods of time. It was not particularly organic to schedule this time. This was at least our third attempt to get together this summer, and while on some level, I very much wanted to see her, I anticipated not having the patience for the encounter once it was underway. I should have left well enough alone.

She is a well-meaning person, but there is an old imbalance in our friendship from earlier days in which she was mentally tortured and confused about her life, and I acted as something of a sage to her perpetual apprentice. Not because I am a sage, but more just someone who gave her advice based on very common sense. Nevertheless, this is the structure we have in place, and I don't like spending time with anyone anymore if there isn't a balanced dymanic, where it's not a mutually beneficial exchange. It's exhausting. When I said I needed to wrap up, she was concerned that we had spent the time talking primarily about her. I assured her that I had shared with her everything I needed to share, and that I did not feel disappointed. I didn't feel disappointed, because my expectations were lined up with what actually came to pass. And if I thought it might have been different, I knew the moment she asked me about grad school and my classes, and then cut across me to ask if I'd seen her old boyfriend, that things were going to be par for the course.

Victoria and Michael and I were discussing this issue just on Saturday. There are those that you really want to let drift quietly to the outer edges of your life--not out of malice, but out of deference to the natural ebbs and flows of human interaction.

I am trying to be much more discriminating about how I plan my time these days. For years, I kept people in my life when I knew that the relationship had run its course, but I was propelled by some maladjusted guilt to keep drowning associations afloat. In any case, what I've taken from last night is that it's okay, even right, for me to guard my time better.

Rrrring Rrrring...

For the last 24 hours, in between visits with friends and doing chores, I've been busy attributing specialized rings to some friends' and family's phone numbers in my cell phone directory. I've been trying to pick ones that fit the individual's personality, or that somehow create an auditory association with the person. As Sarah put it, I'm getting "way too deep with all this," but what can I say? I'm a goober that way. I love my Jazzy default ring so much, though, that if someone is not a frequent caller, I just left his or her setting on that one, since I'll never tire of hearing it.

Speaking of friends, I hung out with Victoria and her husband yesterday afternoon. We went to dinner at the One World (which was yummy; I may have to remove the strikethrough from the link!) in honour of my birthday. We weren't able to get together sooner because they were in Paris on my birthday proper. Just looking at their photos made me want to see that city. Unlike many people I know, I don't have wanderlust, or a desire to see many places in the world, but Paris, I yearn for without question. They both agreed that I would love it.

Among the three very thoughtful presents Vic and Michael brought me, coasters with vintage French ads on them, was one. They so nicely complemented the equally French and classy Champagne label coasters Sarah gave me just yesterday! Anyone who has visited me in my apartment knows that I was lacking these, and it was something of a minor irritation to me that I had to place dishtowels under people's cups and glasses to protect my coffee table. Also, it just didn't look very sophisticated.

I am just finishing up toast with pumpkin butter and a mug of creamy, sweet coffee. Another old friend is visiting today from Philadelphia, and I have some things I need to accomplish, like showering and reading and tidying before I welcome her.

Autumn Weekend

After procuring a new phone, Sarah and I went back to her place, got some Chinese food delivered, and watched "A Mighty Wind." This morning, we woke up, dealt with some boxes she needed to empty of packing peanuts (thousands of them) and break down for disposal, then we got a little breakfast. We picked up Michael and went to Webber's Farmer's Market in Parkville. I got a couple of miniature pumpkins.

Since I've been home I devoted some much needed attention to my desk unit drawers, which were crammed with crap and unhappy to be in this state. I think I'll have a bit of coffee soon. I had a subpar cup earlier that staved off the deprivation headache, but did not satisfy the craving.

I'll sip happily, and do the reading that's been assigned for Poetry Workshop. I've given myself some assignments. Since imitation is touted as a technique for growth, I'm going to begin with Millay and Sexton. I've already started a notebook of samples. I will attempt one imitation a week, at least.

Maybe I'll get one worked in while waiting for Victoria and her Michael to come take me out for a belated birthday dinner.

New Cell Phone and Other Goodies

The one I have currently has been acting up and acting out its belabored death scene for about a month and a half now. I am so relieved that I'll be getting a cuter, sleeker model in a matter of hours.

I'm listening to Jill Scott's "Beautifully Human: Words and Sounds, Volume 2." I decided to order it after listening to a coworker's copy. I bought Volume 1 a couple of years ago, and found it to be a great vehicle for tapping into the connectivity between poetry and jazz.

I plan to buy a macked out Christmas tree this year. I like tall, full trees, but getting live ones into apartment buildings is a pain, not to mention something of a mess. I know exactly where I'll put it... in my foyer.

Catchka sent me a lovely, luxurious crimson scarf that she knit for me. It is regal and sensual,and I can't wait until it is cold enough to wear it.

Reluctant Superman

The Smallville premiere "party" was more like three people hanging out watching tv, which was fine with me. One of the people Gordon invited had to work that night, and Victoria and her husband begged off at the last minute, having just moved and being exhausted from that experience. So it was just us and one other guy friend of Gordon's.

I did make the banana bread with the eggs G brought over. I asked him for just a couple, which he carefully wrapped in blue, plastic grocery bags. I thought I'd never get to them, there were so many layers. He explained: "I wrapped them really tight because I brought them over on my motorcycle." That struck me as being so poetic, such an interesting visual--to take such care to transport something so fragile via such a speedy, somewhat precarious means of travel.

He arrived first and talked to me animatedly about what a productive day he'd had--he devoted his time solely to his art, and had the epiphany that he really wants to spend himself in that direction only. He thinks he wants to get a house because his priestly efforts will take a couple of years yet. I encouraged him to get a house, because I think that will help his self-esteem,and will give him roots. I was somewhat distracted while we talked because I was trying to mix the ingredients and pour them into my loaf pan without making a mess.

The show, itself, was good. It's going to be a very intriguing season. Now that the Lois Lane character has been introduced, Clark may be able to forget Lana. Part of me doesn't want him to, because I am a sucker for things "working out," between star crossed lovers... but I know that according to Superman Lore, not even Lois and Clark ever really get to have each other. Being so special is his curse, damn it all!

G's friend left soon after the show was over, but he stayed about an hour more, telling me more stories--the anecdote-trading which so characterizes our interactions. At one point he was relaying a story about a friend of his who never acknowledges personal space, and stands too close to people, and hugs for almost too long. He had me stand up so that he could fully demonstrate this principle. Being that close to him that suddenly was weird-- we were so close to each other that we just started laughing. After we stopped hugging, he was trying to mimick some other thing that involved standing too close that this guy had said, and he couldn't even make it through the reenactment. I started laughing too, just because it was all so odd... and I couldn't tell if this was an incredible farce, or if he was just truly that tickled about someone who's main problem seemed to be a lack of depth perception! I'm not saying I didn't like it, but it was low grade surreal. Under normal circumstances, I think I would have felt more "there," but because everything was couched in these minor theatrics, I was trying to take things for what they were.
We were close enough to turn that into so much more, and for a split second I wondered if he would try.

Something about him is so much more open when I'm around him now. I see that intellectually, but I don't know how to respond to that emotionally. I normally feel that we are both on guard--my discomfort with myself is painfully apparent to me when I'm around him. His rejection from years ago is not the proverbial elephant in the room, but I interpret everything involving him through that lens--as though it were a literary construct. I think he and I have such similar wounds. Maybe he wasn't trying to close a gap between us, maybe he was... Maybe there is nothing metaphorical to find here, just the literal action. I am so well practiced at demanding nothing from him, that if he were to offer himself, I don't know if I could receive it.

My groceries were delivered at about 20 minutes before 10 last night (my delivery window was 7-10). I was a bit disappointed that the scallops I ordered were out of stock, but it knocked about 10 dollars off my bill, which I can actually use.

I have been experimenting with writing poetry in form, which I've avoided up to now.
I wrote a piece today entitled "A Quatrain Study." It's wobbly, as though I wrote it with my left hand, metaphorically speaking.(Sidebar: I thought this was apparent, but just to be sure, the poem I posted yesterday was my way of being facetious. That is not a serious effort. I was still a bit miffed by the inane comments of my workshop, but I see now that if I'm to have a productive experience for the rest of the semester, I have to shake it off.)

I am thinking of making banana bread for tomorrow night's Smallville premiere party. Even though I am doing this for Gordon, it seems gauche not to make some offering for people to enjoy. I'll offer coffee and tea, too, obviously. I would love to do more, but ye olde pocketbook won't allow it. Besides, I totally go over board with things like this. If I don't reign myself in, I try to buy things like Seafood Newburg and Lump Crab in Filo dough. Way too much. I get that from my mother--that need to be generous, and also to win love by being lavish. Not to reduce this tendency totally to negative pathology. I like to see people enjoying themselves and having the very best. Some of that desire to go all out has its root there.

Still living and breathing Kafka, and think that I will do one of the three papers I have to write this semester on The Trial.

Poem Without Title, Not "Untitled" As Per Convention

For My Workshop, who would understand this poem

Stop saying the train is a metaphor!
It's real, damnit.
I was on it; it was going somewhere actual.
I really disembarked--
people saw me return.

It is symbolic.
Perhaps that's what you were meaning?
But, it is not the idea of distance.
I rode for miles and miles encased
in steel, hearing the wheels scrape against
the tracks, and true sparks flew.

And when I leaned back I dreamt
the way one can only dream on a locomotive--
lulled, conveyed to destinations where
I was fully expected to show up for real.

[Soggy]Family Weekend

Hurricane systems Ivan and Jeanne created a lot of ambient weather conditions up here in the mid Atlantic region--namely rain, gusty wind, tropical humidity, and tornadoes. My hair did not fare well. I got a fresh cut and style before heading down to DC to rendezvous with my mom, a family friend, and my middle sister, Crystal. Crystal, the dog, and I went down separately to settle into our hotel room--then we made our way to campus to eat dinner with Caryl and her friends.

The rest of the weekend proved to be excellent in terms of bonding, but so many of the campus activities, like the cardboard boat races, were rendered about as appealing as wet sand in one's underwear because of the icky conditions. So, as it turned out, we took a lot of our meals at the campus dining hall, but did our bonding in our respective hotel rooms (Mom and family friend stayed at a different one from the girls and I), and about Lexington Park (the "town" just before you get to the college).

It was a pretty emotionally charged time since one of the subplots of the visit was that Crystal was coming to take her dog home with her to upstate New York. The dog has lived with my mom and Caryl for about three years now. Needless to say, they are quite attached to her. But, this was always the plan. Now that Crystal has her own place, it's time for her dog to resume its occupancy where she is.

Because Crystal is so much farther away than the rest of us are from each other, I struggle to feel connected to her in the same way...and emotionally she has created distance, I believe, as a means of escaping the confines of our family dynamic. She stands in sharp contrast to Caryl and myself... in terms of her choices, her independence, all of it. She's much more easy going in temprament, than either of us, and I see that she is better for it. I've always admired her, but in some ways, she is alien to me. It is one of my priorities this year to make myself more accessible to her. To that end, I am going to go and visit her in mid October in her apartment. I just really want to make that connection before it's too late.

Poetry Workshop was frustrating last night. The first week I felt content to let them pull my offering apart, because I felt that they were doing so with some degree of integrity, and that they did so in the spirit of actually understanding what the overarching point of my poem was. Last night, I did not feel that same acknowledgment of the spirit of the piece--they were just as kind and gentle in wording, but completely daft in their comments. It is workshop protocol for the author not to speak during the critique of her work, and I see the value in that, but during class last night, I wanted to shout "you are totally missing the point! You don't understand my work at all..." If you've ever seen "Annie Hall," there's a scene in which Alvy and Annie are at the movies and some pretentious fool is waxing on about the work of the director of the film. In an Allenesque moment, the director, long dead in actuality, is standing behind this fool and eventually says to him "you know nothing of my work..."

I have noticed that my fellow work shoppees very often misinterpret what I consider to be very basic details. They are so literal minded, especially about the presence of passing time, or the way it passes in a poem. Last night, with the exception of one person, they were stopped by the lack of a title on my poem. Hey, look, I studied under Lucille Clifton, who does not always title her work. It's called innovation, punks! Sometimes the poem does not want a title!

I can understand why my other prof (20th Century World Lit) is so anti-workshop. It's kind of interesting to be taking these two classes at the same time. I typically love the workshop premise, but I did feel for about five minutes last night that it had outlived its usefulness.

The chocolate chip scone I'm eating as I write this is delicious...

I'm trying something new tonight. I am not going to go home before class. I normally allow myself the luxury of spending about 25 minutes at home before I head out. It is during this time that I wolf down something that passes as dinner, freshen up or change clothes totally, and get the stuff that I need for class. Today, I brought what I'll need for class with me, I have nothing at home to eat for dinner, so I'll have to grab it out, and since I am usually a bit dishevled after a vigorous walk across campus, any change of clothes or hair restyling efforts are for naught by the time I take my seat in the circle anyway. I'll see if this works any better. I assumed that going home first would help me to feel an obvious shift or break in my day--and to refuel. But maybe if I just keep the continuum going, it'll work just as well.

I did a mother lode of laundry last night, no pun intended. I am relieved, but it exhausted me. I think I'm just tired from not resting well any night this week, in spite of going to bed significantly earlier than usual.

Deconstructing Josef K.

20th Century World Literature has begun, and with feeling! Lively discussion all around; I talked a lot. Feel that I am once again in my element discussing the impact of the world's shifting paradigm on literature, or vice versa. Simply superb.

I went to bed last night at about 10:30, but still feel that I could have slept for several more hours. I had odd, Kafka-inspired dreams. Once I feel that he and I have an understanding, he pulls some more of his hocus pocus. Once I arrived at work, I realized I was craving a hot breakfast again, so I went over to Whole Foods and got bacon and potatoes, coffee, and Nantucket Nectars's Orange Mango juice.

Laundry will be so much more than a notion tonight. I am almost completely out of clean clothes, I'm going away for the weekend, and I have class on Thursday, so it has to happen.

I continue to be invigorated by the Poetry Workshop. Now everyone's work has been critiqued by the group except one person, but I have high hopes for her work based on the comments she offered up during last night's meeting. Because the Instructor had a scheduling glitch last Thursday, we made up that class yesterday evening, and will meet again on Thursday for our regularly scheduled session. I'm excited to have my work critiqued again--and unless I change my mind, I've already picked a piece to share at the roundtable.

I have finished the assigned section of the Kafka novel, and am armed with a "problem" I want to address in the text--that of societal and relational emasculation and powerlessness.

On an entirely separate note, I woke up so thirsty this morning. I normally don't drink anything until I get to the office, but I woke up craving orange juice. After an unprecedented two glasses, I had a glass and a half of water. I haven't even started the industrial coffee yet...went to the water cooler for a nice tall one.

I'm going over to WholeFoods in a bit for a nice cuppa, and maybe a little hot breakfast too..

Belated Birthday Magic

My time with Gordon yesterday was worth the wait. He got me the most thoughtful gifts--an Aaron Neville standards album, featuring songs like "Nature Boy," which I have always loved--a replica of a French icon cross, and one of his water colours.

After dinner we watched the recent Tom Hanks remake of "Ladykillers." He made an effort to hook up my adapter so that my dvd and vcr can both work through the tv in my living room, but since I was missing a crucial cable, we watched it in my bedroom, on my computer. We both agreed that it was just okay. I liked being with him most of all. We drank Red Stripe lager, which I'd never heard of before. Holy Frijoles is "dry" on Sundays and we couldn't get beer there, so I bought us some from the deli around the corner from my apartment. G chose this because of the "red kick" I'm on a la kitchen appliances, and because he liked the shape of the bottle. This is life with an artist. Selections get made for interesting reasons. It was good though, so no complaints from me.

I have agreed to let him and some friends of his come over on the Wednesday after next for the Smallville season premiere--a show I now watch because of a recommendation from him. I nearly offered him my place a couple of weeks ago when he first told me he wanted to do something like that because I know that space where he lives is limited... but I assumed he would say no. Needless to say, I'm looking forward to it.

He asked me thoughtful questions about my classes, and I was unabashed in my pleasure at being with him. Shortly after he first arrived at my place, I just looked at him and said "I'm so happy to see you." He gave that candor right back to me, and told me that he was happy to see me too. I realized just how much I had missed him lately. I was wearing one of my new shirts, which he expressed an immediate appreciation for. I chose it because I thought he might like it. It is pale blue, with a hint of a green tint, making it a softer version of turquoise. I wore tan, flare-legged corduroy's with it.

There was a point after the movie when I told him about my misadventure with a defunct taxi about 3 weeks ago. One Sunday after church I hailed a cab--a beat up looking one, but bearing the taxi roof fixture, and it stopped. I know that some people drive cars that once functioned as taxis, but if they are not service vehicles any longer, they don't stop. Anyway, this guy did, so I got in. I assessed fairly quickly that I was not in a legitimate taxi,and started to feel ill at ease. I also assessed that this person was not likely to hurt me, so I had him let me out close to my apartment, but not at it, and paid him roughly what it usually costs to go that distance. He had no meter, which was one of many clues that his decision to stop was capricious. In any event, I said to Gordon "I could have been killed; who would peddle your art?" To which he replied "Who would stroke my ego? I would be so lost...but I'm sure the Lord would have protected you and not let anything like that happen..."

So, now he is heading to Florida for a meeting...on the brink of Ivan, and I am hoping that no harm comes to a single hair on his lovely head.

Getting ready to leave for church. I haven't been in about 3 weeks for one reason or another, and am relieved that because I decided not to go away this weekend, I can. There are two services again (during the summer only one at 9:30); one at 8 and one at 11. I was all ambitious about getting to the 8 a.m., but when my alarm went off at 6:30, I shut it off. I was mindful of what I was doing. Why torture myself, I thought? I'll see what the 11 is like, and aim for the 8 another time. In any case, when I get home I need to do some tidying. I'm having company tonight and I wouldn't want my place to be as shabby-not-so-chic as it is now when he comes.

I had weird dreams last night which I'm certain involved an N'Sync concert, taking the metro to my undergrad Alma Mater, and apartment shopping for a new place to live with Sarah. The rent was dirt cheap, but one of the two bedrooms had all the ammenities, and so it wasn't ideal.

Flaked out on Dr. Kafka yesterday afternoon and turned my attention back to the novel I'm writing. Things are heating up.

Today is my middle sister's 21st birthday, and I don't have a valid phone number for her...

That girl changes cell phone companies like some people change underwear. It's bumming me out that she is so unreachable, globally... I will see her next week, but that isn't good enough for me. I can't bear the thought of today passing and her not hearing from me at all.

I just finished writing out checks for all my mid-month bills. I need stamps now, but I can pick some up tomorrow, perhaps. I received my loan reimbursement from Hopkins, so I can pay my credit card company for all the school stuff I bought on my visa. I still have a couple of books to buy for the Poetry Workshop class--but the delay is not my fault. The order was never placed by the campus store, and I didn't know that in time to buy them from someplace else. Good thing that this is not really a reading-intensive class, and that the instructor knows it was a gaffe, so there'll be leniency as communicated in her e-mail to us all.

I've been thinking about the job interview I had on Thursday. I left it with mixed feelings; I don't know if my potential supervisor is someone I can work with or not. I know that an interview is not really representative (for better or worse), but I have learned to pay attention to the subtle vibes that people emit. I'm praying through it. It's not that I've been offered the position, but if I were I'm not certain what I'd say...

I've been watching episodes of 'Curb Your Enthusiasm' and laughing hysterically. What is it about white male angst (Male, Jewish, New Yorker angst to be more specific) that so resonates with me?

Loving the Kafka, which reminds me of an episode of the aforementioned program, or Seinfeld, for which Larry David was partially responsible. Kafka's Trial is seemingly the book about nothing. And it is fabulous.

Kafkaesque

The instructor has given us a lens through which to view,analyze, and decode other 20th century writers he has chosen. We will filter everything through Kafka's Trial. The first 87 pages are to be read by next Tuesday. I don't have my books yet, and have a busy weekend ahead. I am also waiting for the balance of my loan disbursement. I may just have to get this one book for now to ensure I'm prepared with my question/problem to submit for the next class.

I don't have poetry workshop on Thursday, so if I can get this book, it would be an ideal time to get some reading for 20th century done. I do, however, have a job interview that afternoon, and while I'm concerned with doing well, I don't yet feel nervous. Maybe I won't. As I've gotten older, I find that scenarios like that unnerve me less and less.

To go back, briefly, to my instructor. I don't have him pegged (and that's a good thing, since I only have 2 and a half hours' worth of experience with him), but he strikes me as being accessible and open to engaging his students beyond the confines of the classroom. Off to a good start.

Restless

I know I will be miserable when my alarm goes off at 6 a.m., but for now sleep is elusive, and I thought it made more sense to blog than to lie in bed waiting...

I am so keyed up. I received a message from a recruiter at an institution to which I applied; she wants to set up an interview. I called her back and left a voicemail message, but have not yet heard back. So, even though this is great news, and it makes me very happy, the loop is not yet closed, and that makes me feel anxious.

I'm also anxious because I go to my Tuesday night class for the first time tomorrow night... but first I have a day of meetings to make it through, one of which I am responsible to lead.

In an effort to reacclimate to being at home for the last hours of my long weeknd, I made a prototype of volume ii of my autumn mix, but after listening to it all the way through I realize that I have a few kinks to work out. During this process I drank way too much coffee or something, because I am just not tired! And of course, I feel unsettled about that, too. I hate it when things aren't finalized. So close, but so far away.

At least I have a retreat to look forward to this coming weekend, and then getting together with G for a belated b-day celebration on sunday late afternoon/evening.
I know this week is going to be okay once it starts, it just can't start soon enough for me...

A picture's worth a thousand words....

Birthday Bonanza

My morning began quietly, with me alone in my little city apartment just as I envisioned. I woke up at about 8 to hear "My One and Only Love" from "The Gentle Side of John Coltrane" album streaming from my computer speakers. I immediately padded to the kitchen and made tropical vanilla coffee, then went to turn on the shower, letting it run for a while to make sure it got nice and hot.

I put on my favourite outfit--very worn, somewhat torn, flare-legged jeans, my white button down shirt, my big, thin hoop earrings, and my red velvet newsboy cap. I added mascara and shadow to my eyes,finishing with a vanilla flavoured gloss coat over my medium brown lipstick. Then, because it had to be done, I blasted Chaka Khan's "I'm Every Woman," which is the anthem of my 30s, I've decided. At about 11, Sarah and Michael showed up....

I will be posting pictures soon, but I can tell you that I was the recipient of some pretty marvelous presents from Sarah and Michael (not linked is the red currant scented pillar candle and two cool sets of notecards), not to mention these from Catchka.

After opening presents, we headed here for a delectable lunch (I had the shrimp tetrazini).

It's only about ten minutes passed 6 now. I still have six hours left. Who knows what can still happen....

On the Eve of 31

One thing I forgot to mention... there are no men in my poetry workshop class, which is not totally unexpected, but is something of a bummer. A low grade one. Here's to hoping that there are at least a few in my 20th Century World Literature course, which due to the truncated first week of classes, I have yet to attend.

I just gave the Spider Mums some more food; I hope they make it through the holiday weekend. I am dreading coming in on Tuesday morning having to confront their death scene.

As things have turned out, I have no plans tonight, and while I was disappointed by that initially, I can see that it actually gives me an opportunity to clean up the apartment, work on my novel, to nurture myself on my last night as a 30 year old.
I am going to be actively grateful for the fact that I reached most of my goals from last year, and start thinking up new ones. See post from 9/16/03 below:

The Long-Awaited List of Goals (that everyone must formulate shortly after his or her 30th birthday)

I. By this time next year to have my comparably paltry debt [mostly]obliterated.

a. must accomplish this by completely revamping spending habits.
1. must accomplish this by starting a savings account.
2. must support savings account by putting in all money I would otherwise frivolously spend on items with no long-term value.

II. By this time next year to have new furniture that I actually like.

a. new spending habits may or may not facilitate this goal.

III. By this time next year to have settled church membership issues.

a. must accomplish this goal by continuing to pray and visit as many places as possible.

IV. By this time next year to have worked hard enough to get a raise.

a. must accomplish this goal by continuing to work tirelessly at job, being of the mindset that integrity and a solid work ethic are integral to character development.

V. By this time next year to have enrolled in grad program, pursuing an MFA or MA in English Literature/Creative Writing.

a. must accomplish this goal by researching entry requirements and by saving money (see goal I).

Poem as Metaphor

They might as well have been talking about my relationship with Gordon.

The piece of mine that was workshopped tonight was written well over a year ago, and is (was) based on all of the unsettled elements of my relationship with G, the overarching,thematic ones, which are still in place.

The first comment that was made was "something about this poem is so tragic, but I can't put my finger on exactly what it is..." Other comments suggested an inherent formlessness in the piece, saying that it is "hinting at something, but stopping short of saying it outright."

Oddly enough, the class assumed that the author of the poem and her man were lovers, and there was even a place in the language that they collectively took at face value as an indication of us sharing a bed.

By the time all was said and done, there was one part of the poem everyone agreed was the place the poem "happened"; they preferred the concrete ideas from actual memory to the unclear, imagistic ramblings of the speaker, because that is where the man became clear to them... it is a brief section where G's art is alluded to. It makes sense that they saw him unobstructed through the mention of his art. That is where he is clearest to me, and it has always been through our respective art that we understand each other best.

Workshopping always amazes me. How people who know nothing of the facts still get at the truth, because the life of the poem is telling a story... the connotative facts, the subtext.

I took several notes on the piece and have a lot of material to help with revising; I learned what this amorphous friendship looks like to outsiders. Tragic. The poem, the relationship. I'm not sure I know which is which.

I bought some beautiful Spider Mums from Whole Foods yesterday afternoon. I wasn't thinking about them, I guess, because when I walked into my cubicle this morning, I was delighted to find them brightening up my area--as though they were a surprise gift from someone. Sometimes, you just have to make your own joy, and fresh flowers are a wonderful way to do that.

I slept to the backdrop of "The Gentle Side of John Coltrane," The CD Gordon gave me for my birthday last year. It is so soothing, and the the titles of the songs seem to tell a story. "Soul Eyes," "Nancy with the Laughing Face," and "My One and Only Love."

While I worked on the Novel (before bed, obviously) I listened to Ella's "Like Someone In Love," which is the album I gave G for his 29th birthday, which is soothing, but in a different way. These two discs are actually very compatible. I do love Jazz.

My hair is looking good; I asked my stylist to give me a "glorified trim." I needed a cut as my hair was growing out of its shape, but I wanted the full, "moppish" look. The result? Well the men of Baltimore city are in a tizzy. Actually, just the three I saw this morning who gave me appreciative looks. I'm not going to lie. It feels good to know you can turn a man's head at 6:50 a.m.

"I believe in the power of Echinacea to stop a cold in its tracks." Catchka

I went to WholeFoods yesterday, late morning, and bought a box of Echinacea Complete Care tea bags. I felt remarkably better as I drank a cup of it. I had another cup at home last night, and am steeping a cup now. I will drink it before any coffee enters my system this morning.

My stomach was also unsettled last night, to the point that I wondered if I was really coming down with something more than a stuffy head. So far so good. Staved off illness for now.

My mood drastically improved as the day wore on and was made even better by the e-mail I received from the Poetry Workshop Instructor. If her e-mail list is all inclusive, it seems that there are only about 5 people in the class. We each have to bring seven copies of a poem we want to workshop on Thursday. My goodness! It's actually beginning...

I also received a stellar letter from my friend Holly,who sent me part of a promotional advertisement which captured the sentiment of a father's love for his young daughter. She wanted me to know that that is how God feels about me. It was unexpected and delightful. Thanks Holly!

At this point, I'll be enjoying my birthday come what may.

Caught a little of the Republican convention (I don't usually like dog and pony shows, even when it's my party)and was actually riveted by Arnold S's (not even going to pretend I can spell his last name on the fly, first thing in the morning)sentiments. How often can one say that?