I survived the storm. The power/heat/internet outage that followed. The sudden snowstorm that came after that. The sinus infection that decided it just wasn’t done with me yet. And damn if I’m not lucky to have gotten clear of all that mess with my house still standing and my life pretty much ok.
These are all causes for celebration, but! I am still catching up.
What does this mean?
Well, fair readers, if you are eagerly awaiting your copy of “Path of Needles,” fear not! It goes in the mail tomorrow. Sorry for the delay, folks. I’m sure you’ll understand, what with the weather bombs we’ve -haha- weathered these last two weeks.
I’m working on Path of Pins pretty hard, so get excited! But I’ve also had increased work from one of my freelance job, my new job at B&Noble, and the library (which remains my favorite. Love you, library!). Oh, yeah, and I’m leaving for Prague in two months. Well, probably. Unless this secret new development which I’m not going to talk about mucks things up. Also my car is at the shop dealing with the minor damage it got in that accident I had while mom was in the hospital.
This is the perfect time for a sinus infection! OH WAIT JUST KIDDING this is actually terrible timing. LOL, sinuses. You’re SO FUNNY HAHA.
Boo. Boo boo boo.
I got to waste my entire morning at the doctor’s today. Soon, I will go to work. Le sigh. Sometimes I really wish I had a Time Turner ala Harry Potter. Sure, I’d probably appear to age faster than all of my friends and family, but at least I could get everything done.
I’ve started reading Allen Ginsberg’s “Howl” and some of his other poems. I heard a recording of Ginsberg reading it live on the radio the other day and it was pretty electrifying. I’m a very random reader, by which I mean that I read based on my literary cravings, which lately have swung between Rick Riordan’s Percy Jackson series (which is excellent) and beat era poems and literature. Anyways, Howl blew my mind- as it does- and has put me in a poetic state of mind, so expect more poems to start cropping up in the near future. Or not.
God knows I’m so changeable.
Speaking of which, here is a poem I wrote yesterday, first via text message to myself (and man does that sound sad) and then on the computer. Not sure I’m entirely happy with it yet, but…oh well. Whatevs.
Once upon a time there was a child; and this child said, “when I grow up…”
i am a creature of inconvenient lumps and angles trying to fit into the suit i thought i would wear when i was young enough to think thoughts like that.
but the suit doesn’t fit and if i try
if i try to force it on
if i pull it over my head squeeze it over the swelling of my thighs and sharp joints of elbows and the jutting points where the bones of my wrist perch like islands beneath my skin
if i let it smooth the bumps and soften the the angles into something more palatable to the eye
will i ever take it off again?
or will it be a permanent fixture impaled
on the spikes of my own personality
will they say on my tombstone
“she lived. she
was ugly grey but not so hideous
that you would notice her in a crowd,
or across a chasm.”
is it better to be naked in all my deformity
finding no comfort from the cold but a life more
spectacularly violently lived
i would be depraved they would scorn me ridicule me
pity me my foolishness
(but i would feel every glorious rash of the wind. the cold would snap against my skin and raise small bumps and when i breathed the air would seem sharp and clear and real).
the suit is waiting on the back of my closet door.
i turn over.
the mattress holds no comfort for a body
so marred with crooks and cusps and declines.