intensely intense

There are things I've wanted to blog about since September that I just haven't been able to. Mostly because, despite the public forumness of blogging, I don't like blogging in public places, e.g. work, NU libraries, etc. Actually, that pretty much sums up the internet access I've had the past four months, until yesterday, when, miracle of miracles, I let myself hope and check for a wireless connection, and there was one. I'm hoping this lasts. I've got big plans for editorgirl and the outside world (via the internet). It sure beats watching crime dramas (not always advisable when you're living in a big city and the laundry room of your apartment building would be an excellent place to stash a body).

"I'd just spew out how I felt and they'd think I was a madwoman."

Anyway. . .

I've been writing this week. I've been writing because on Monday my prof asked who could be ready to workshop the next class period (aka, tomorrow) and I said I could be. Silly editorgirl. But I think it was a good thing because there were poems to be written and I always need the extra kick in the pysche to sit down and write things out. The result is a rather intensely personal beginning. . . I nearly jinxed myself there.

So tomorrow is workshop and I've sent out these poems and they are intense and personal and intensely personal and I'm wondering if I've done the right thing. Not in writing them, but in submitting them for workshop. I did send them to a few people, but I wish I trusted anyone in this workshop the way I trusted april and fob and poetasters. I've been incredibly lucky with finding people who I trust with my poetry, which is why I've been able to write in such a personal (and I don't mean personal personal, but intimate personal, you know?) way.

And on that note of confusion, good night. "I still have to sell my little Japanese cars in the morning." Name that movie.