it is

very very late. or very very early, depending on which direction you're heading. and for most people it wouldn't be either. i, on the other hand, no longer have a recognizable sleep pattern. i just sleep. a lot and at inappropriate times. which is why i didn't sleep last night. i told myself that sleep was not allowed until i have this chapter done. it's closer, but nothing meriting an all-nighter. although, based on this week's sleep, i'm not sure the past 12 or so hours qualifies as an all-nighter.

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i stole periods from th. for this blog, and for that one poem i wrote a year ago.

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all applications are in, as of yesterday when i was pretending i was going to have a productive day, which i would then interpret as a good day.

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i know what i want to write. both in this blog and in the chapter. but everything keeps getting mixed up so Creech's Judas and my sleeping patterns and Kneehigh's A Matter of Life and Death, which I saw in London and read sometime this week, and various TV sitcoms and epithalamions and everything else don't have a clear place.

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i just want to write poetry. please.

confession/post 500

I just right aligned a poem. And it kind of works.

Dammit.

499

Where do titles come from?

I'll tell you.

I don't know.

********************

Seriously, I need help here. Strong poem, absolutely no title. I'd really like to include it in my manuscript for Denver, but I refuse to not have a title and no one word or phrase really stands out as title material. Can't I just be Dickinson and use numbers?

huh

I'm working on a poem when I hear a knock on my door. Answer it. Find two home teacher-y types from the ward. Invite them in.

They asked what I was working on. I tell them I was writing. They ask what. "A poem." One asks if it's an assignment or if it's "just for fun."

Okay, so the poem wasn't assigned (hi, no classes really). But "just for fun"? No. Not at all.

exactly how it is, everytime

I've had too many thoughts in my head to put any two together for a blog. And a one sentence blog isn't really my thing. Not that it can't be done. It can. I've seen it done. Read it done. Still not me.

So where I am right now: In the Hole (what was once the basement, my apartment, my flat, and the Fen). The Hole is a bit of a mess. Actually, it's a killer mess. Dirty dishes, dirty floor, file cabinet in front of the couch (so it's a loveseat, but so inappropriate). Tomorrow is going to be the day of cleaning. Promise.

Tomorrow is also the day of the thesis. It's coming. Coming coming coming. It will be done. This chapter will be done for Monday.

On a higher note, or a different note, I did get a job. Source checking my brains out. Not my favorite way to pass the time, but I can do it and do it well. Go me.

The best part has been doing reading and writing I don't have to do. I'm sitting in on Kim's classes, reading Summa Lyrica and brilliant contemporary poets (brilliant even if they do insist on right-aligned poetry, which I can't decide if I like). Brilliant classmates as well. (Can I call them my classmates if I'm not technically in the class?)

The only thing I really want to do now is write. And sleep. Write and sleep. The perfect life.

a post on emptiness

I don't know if I can explain how empty I feel right now. Maybe all you would have to do is look at the posts from last year--so much emptiness. It's that moment at the end of a story when it's not a happy ending, not a sad ending, when life just keeps going and you're left feeling unsatisfied and unhinged. Which is what life is. I keep looking for the "The End" sign for this chapter of my life, but there isn't a sign. There is this emptiness. Not happy, not sad. Empty. No roommate, no job, no friends I see every day, no one who needs me. But there is my thesis, my sister's family, my friends who are still in contact. I feel as if I'm waiting to be filled up. This isn't a religious question so much as a life question, that "So what?" Hickman is so fond of writing on my thesis chapters. What has all this meant? What does all this mean? Am I going to find out? So much happened last year, right down to the final coutdown with K and me holding our henna tattoos away from our sides so they wouldn't smear while the rest of the world ran into each other. So much. Is it right for me to feel empty?