I write in updates now, because that is what busy people do.
This is the last week of boot camp. I made it three weeks before quitting. Did you know exercise can trigger anxiety attacks? I did not know, either.
My daughter is a toddling toddler. I’m not sure when it happened. Sometimes I want to cry when I smell her hair and hold her close and then she feeds the dog coho salmon and I want to cry for a different reason. Did you know salmon will make your miniature dachshund shit 3x more than usual? And if you miss the scampering potty dance, your dog will drop a log at your feet? Lesson learned.
I have submitted 162 poems in four months with a less than 7% acceptance rate. Did you know that your MFA in Poetry doesn’t mean jack shit if you’re not the editor of a journal with a bevy of connected friends? Hi, I’m sour grapes. Nice to meet you. It is more likely that I write mediocre poetry. I’m not glib, honestly. I’m depressed.
But in keeping within the theme of doing things that terrify me, I sent a proposal for a poetry course to a local college. I have been going to readings and workshops and trying to network and be extroverted and involved and engaged. It’s like wearing an uncomfortable pair of pants.
Then there are days like today where the Rolling Stones are on the radio and the toddling child is cruising around and patting things, gurgling with weird language and hoping I don’t notice those ominous red rings children get under their eyes when they are very tired.