The Red Sox are going to the playoffs. Expectations could not have been lower for a team, so, yay, Sox. We're sorry about all that not buying tickets stuff.
Other things happened and didn't happen. I'm not going to dwell on it all because you should see the number of posts/poems/essays I might have written if I didn't dwell on things.
First, things about other people, in
Penelope Cray. We met twice. She was a date at my wedding. I was a date at her wedding. Before those events, I lived with her husband for a while, when he was my husband's roommate. At some point I paid rent, so I guess that made him my roommate too. It was never weird. (Hi, Steve.) Thank goodness for Facebook, I now know Penny's poetry. She has a poem in the most recent issue of The Harvard Review, Death Devours More Than Nadine. It kind of knocked my socks off. You can download the poem or get the whole issue because she is there with peeps like Jim Daniels and Sharon Olds.
Jim Daniels. An amazing mentor. Looking forward to his new book, currently in my shopping cart.
Wendy Fontaine. Superhero. Her latest on What Not to Say to a Single Mom.
Kristen Forbes. Doing what she needs to do. I can't wait for her Book Beast. And Kristen, is there any chance your new writing spot will be closer to Boston?
Gina Loring. Poet extraordinaire. Singer. Songwriter. Lovely human. Please watch this.
Edwin Lyngar saw me cry the first night I met him. He probably doesn't remember it and it doesn't matter. But he was super kind, and he told me he was a dad and he had tears in his eyes too. Edwin's an awesome dude and an awesome writer. He's also a feminist. I've never called myself a feminist, for lots of reasons, but I think I am one. Ed's talks about feminism here. If you're a dude, consider joining him.
Kate Maruyama. I just ordered her book, Harrowgate. I'm so very excited to read it. This should make you excited to order her book too.
Heather Mingus. I don't know her well. But I just read this and holy shit. Beautiful, brave writing. Sending you lots of love and strength, Heather.
Wendy Ortiz. This woman is a serious inspiration to me. She's a mom of a young child and she works her ass off as a writer. She also takes time to read and reply to long dribbly emails that I send her late at night. I'm really proud of her and I'm also in love with this column she is writing at McSweeney's. Can't wait for the next one.
Carla Panciera. My high school English teacher. I wasn't a writer in high school. Or maybe I was but I was focused on making myself into a physical therapist. Ms. Panciera says I have to call her Carla now that we've reconnected but I think that is insane. Anyhow, I'm so glad to have found her. I just this morning listened to this little podcast. If you have some time, she reads a couple of beautiful poems and talks about writing process as well as the fact that she just won the Grace Paley Prize for Short Fiction. No small deal. Yahooo, Ms. Panciera!!
Ashley Perez. This essay has stuck with me. I'm guilty of allowing burnout to take over. Guilty of abandoning a project too soon, guilty of feeling incredibly doubtful. Thanks for the reminders here, Ashley.
I'm forgetting other amazing things that have stuck with me.
And so I'll just go to the topic of me for a moment.
Thanks for the sweet words about my chapbook. It's true that you can actually still order it. It's true I will be reading locally and it's true I'm planning a book party. True, true and true. I'll update you.
I can't stay stuck on myself too long and this is a symptom - or a sign - of something going on here. I'm about to cancel my appointment with my therapist because I literally don't have time for it. This may or may not be a wise move. Truthfully, the only thing we are going to talk about is self care.
And how much I suck at that.
I think the people mentioned above would say to make more time for writing. They know me. I mean they may not actually know me well at all, but they are writers. So they know it's part of self care for someone like me.
My therapist is going to remind me to take my medication when I feed my kids dinner. This is what she always says when I tell her I have a hard time remembering to find the time.
Symptoms and signs. Did I tell you I had jury duty? I was empaneled, on a trial, for two weeks. The judge didn't give a shit about my lists. I asked to go back and talk to him even after we were empaneled and the rest of the pool was sent home. He had me come back in the courtroom, where the lawyers stood with the plaintiff and the defendant. I tried, one last time.
"If you already have some childcare, and the trial goes from 9-1, it sounds like you could probably work it out." And so we did.
Maybe I didn't try hard enough.
It was a good experience and my writing list has a new item at the top. The problem started with a headache. The inmate was prescribed 2 Vicodin. We could not find the doctor at fault but a mother is without a son, if not physically, then mentally, forever. Or until one of them is no longer on the earth. He now has a life expectancy of 52.
My littlest is called a "she" on a regular basis but I'm refusing to cut his hair. He takes little steps, like almost 5 at a time, and likes oatmeal, mainly rubbed into his cheeks. Apple cinnamon. He still nurses, which some people might say is a sign - or a symptom - of a problem with the mother.
This is a weird spot to end but if I dwell here I'll never get to the next entry on my list. And you know you have a million other things to do too. So, onward.
(Please feel free to correct my comma usage. I give up.)