I should be writing poems or posting responses to books or thinking up my next critical essay topic.
I should be stripping beds or running to the store for fresh raspberries (my girl's favorite fruit right now) or vacuuming the living room around her stacks of art supplies and drawings.
But I am distracted and can't seem to focus.
I started writing some drivel that i thought would become a poem that I might have posted on my class discussion board, but it's overwrought and over-written.
This morning I piece together a lunch for my daughter while she still sleeps.
The raspberries are spoiled, green-rot etched into their floral edges.
This early spring reminds me of death, and I smell the decay in my flowerbeds and on my own skin.
I am not a fan of spring. Spring overwhelms me with things growing too quickly, the asthma it triggers, the mud and dirt and need to pay someone to mow since I am allergic to grass. Life is too busy, and I always have insomnia in the spring.
By the anniversary of my father's death in early June, I'll be exhausted and sad.
I have opportunities coming up that make me happy though they don't make me any money. On March 31, I'm auditioning to read poems at the Columbus Arts Festival in early June. I just need to pick five minutes worth and start memorizing around writing poems for class, around reading, around house and child and volunteering and out-of-town trips.
It's so sunny today, so warm. I missed winter. We didn't really have one here. When we lived in Texas, winter was a rarity, but here, I've gotten used to the idea of hunkering down under blankets and wearing socks to bed. My skin needs to be frozen before it can thaw. It does feel as if I'm rotting from the inside out.
Back to work with me. I've got a poem spinning around in my head so fast that I can't quite make out its words, though I think I see its structure.
It's a pretty structure. I just hope it doesn't suck as much as I always think my work sucks (my work doesn't suck; it's just part of my process to think it does).
Later, I might try to tackle the second Scintilla prompt for today though I'm feeling so old that I can't remember any of my "firsts." Hm. That's a lie. I've had some recent firsts that I could ponder.
In case you are wondering, I do not consider this a real blog; I consider it a journal.