Saturday, June 18, 2011

the one where I let myself flow

Sound of the tenor toms (quads) stitched a rhythm in my head that I rather like. I'm glad my Girl switched from bass drum to this gorgeous instrument.

She is off again in a few minutes to go to a special lunch with friends. In eight days, her dear friend leaves for Basic Training, and everyone who loves the friend is cramming in as much time with her as possible. It's exhausting but right.

I am struggling to let myself write without judging what I'm writing while I write it. I'll get over this bad habit by July 23.

I've got 14 pages of poetry gathered so far for the residency workshops (10 to 15 pages required). I'm going to remove and replace, revise a bit, second guess myself, divide the manuscript in two for the two separate weeks with two different poetry teachers. When I think about the actual, real life process, the sitting in a room with six other poets focusing only on poetry, understanding that poetry is breath and blood and laughter, I smile hugely, can't help it. I'm so dreadfully excited that even the nightmares I've been having about money and my not-quite-husband giving me bad financial advice, dreams in which I forget not only my iPod when I leave for the two-week residency, but all of my clothes, waking fears that my work is too personal, not academic enough, not well enough crafted, none of these things can tamp me down.

I'm a fucking trick birthday candle, people, the kind you can't blow out.

So there.

I've discovered a small mound of poems that I never revised, never submitted. I'm disappointed that I didn't give them the attention they deserved. One in particular that I used to despise I realize I only despised because of its title.

It's a good poem worth salvaging (especially since it mentions Thomas Merton).

My focus is split in too many parts lately, and I'm desperate for three solid days of me + poetry time, but my current life is what it needs to be, and I love it.

On Twitter, a young man advised me to take up yoga to help with focus. I didn't laugh at him because he's sweet. But yoga doesn't help with the fatal condition of raising a teenager who now strides into my study, sighs, says, "Excited for today."

Good place to end this
journal entry.

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