Wednesday, August 3, 2011

don't, now, don't...

let's write a list:

1. I hear someone's music in this dorm. Not loud. Kind of pleasant. First time since I arrived July 23.

2. I was hungry after dinner. Rice, green beans, salad and bread are just not satisfying. Eating fairly healthy while I'm here (except for the 100-cal pack of Milanos I just ate), but I feel famished and full. I see a pizza in my future.

3. The readings tonight were a pleasant surprise. Wasn't going to attend ....

PAUSE:

If none of the above makes sense, it might help to know that I'm still at the Ashland University MFA residency. Friday is our last day. It started July 23. I'm a poet, in case you didn't know, or at least I'm studying poetry. Whether I actually am a poet is something I'm still trying to figure out. Could be I'm just a schlub who writes pretty prose in line breaks.

4. I have my Eagle card! (student card) Opens lots of cool data type doors.

5. Can't seem to write while I'm here. Totally stuck. Probably simply have too much shit in my head.

6. I'm so tired I can't stop blinking or thinking, and I look like hell.

7. I love the people here. I love the director, the administrator, the faculty, the guests, the other students, the custodian who cleans our dorm, the woman who took my picture for my ID card, the woman who slides my meal card through her scanner at lunch, the student interns, the people I left at home (or at band camp), my cat, my parents..... (sound like I'm making an Oscar speech).

8. I want to go home so badly my hands are aching to toss all my clothes, books, toiletries into my suitcase. i would creep down the back stairs and sneak out through the men's lounge to the little parking area where my car sits. I want to go home. I want to go home now.

9. If I go home, I will miss tomorrow's workshop. I'm dreading tomorrow's workshop. I fear that someone will say something that will make me look into the face of my bad poems (which I brought on purpose, poems that matter to me but that need fixing) and say, "Why fuck me you're right. I'm not any kind of poet at all."

10. If I sleep in the right way (or don't), I will bypass this self-deprecating toxicity and go into the classroom being Open and Brave, Open and Brave.

11. If I don't, I will cry later, but I hope in private.

12. I might skip lunch tomorrow. I'm tired of salad and sandwiches. I think I'll have packet of cheese crackers and an apple.

13. If I haven't lost a little weight these past two weeks, I should get my thyroid checked because I'm not eating enough and am walking a lot.

14. My new "fat" pants are falling down.

15. I want to go home.

16. Please don't let me hear someone say something (that they won't have said at all) that I hear to mean, "Go back to your bad novel and stop killing poetry, already."

17. Visit from one of the other poetry students who "lives" on my dorm floor. She is worried about the mama cat (almost a kitten) who has been hanging around. Someone started feeding her, but after we leave, no one will be here for her, so we are trying to come up with a plot to save her life and her babies. An endowment of some kind. We'll take up a collection before we take her to the local shelter.

18. I want to go home. I want to drive fast in my little blue car with the windows down on this hot, hot Saturday, try not to run into an Amish buggy, pull into my crappy driveway and buckling garage, shove through back door. "Hi baby! Hi kitty!" dump junk in the middle of the living room floor.

19. I want to fall onto my living room floor, blue carpet, ugly carpet, floor, fall, tired, breathe in carpet dust, fumes, dust, dust, motes, mites, fall, rest.

20. Pizza.

21. A full pot of French roast with Truvia.

22. Poetry inside my silent house.

23. My daughter in the same town.

24. A birthday Monday (53rd).

25. sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep.

26. We have not had a meeting with next semester's mentor, not really, not the 30-minute meeting I'm thinking we should have had. But oh well. I'll ask if last week's lunch discussion was it. Probably so. He's a good guy and reminds me of my old boss, Harry Wilmer, just the mind, not the body.

27. Miss my kid.

28. Miss my kid.

29. Miss my kid.

1 comment:

  1. In my humble opinion, I think you should write whatever you want to write. You don't need anyone's permission or approval. Hugs x

    ReplyDelete