I went to a reading and read. It was sexy. The reading—not that I read. Sexiness was determined by those in attendance. My favorite Happy Towne Coffee Shop poets came: Ky, Connor, Matt. The twist was, we didn't meet at the Coffee Shop.
In truth, we all read. It was enlightening and enleadening. And Matt always leaves me feeling like I'm treading water outside the ark and the rains have only just let up. Matt teases me with olive branches, but his wings are black and he caws.
Thanks to Ky and Connor, I've been introduced to Chelsey Minnis. They've warned me; she hates poetry. The intro should have happened much sooner. Who knows where to place the blame? I'm going to let her influence my work, but not until June. Then I'm going to give her 30 days to unravel my undream.
I came home with Connor's copy of Poemland to prep for the exercise. He's headed off to workshop in Pennsylvania. It won't be needed for at least two weeks.
I'm coming to terms with the fact that my son has Tourette's.
My oldest daughter needs my help to fill out paperwork to ship her to a country where the earth quakes on a daily basis.
I forgave my oldest son for saying, "I'm not like you. I'm not trying to kill myself."
I caught myself begging my youngest daughter not to look for something to be wrong with herself. "Be normal. Let that be the thing that sets you apart," I said.
It's been one of those days.