Saturday, December 29, 2012

Dear Dr. Freud,

Did I ever tell you I have recurring dreams about bathrooms in public places?  Sometimes it's a public pool, sometimes it's a labyrinthian public school, but whenever I find the bathroom, and finally find a stall that's not broken or disgusting, I lock the door, turn around, and realize there are a bunch of open stalls in the same space, or there is a window so the whole outside can see in... there are always people watching.  Last night (in my dream), I found a stall, locked the door, and dropped an open box of Gobstoppers.  When the Gobstoppers disappeared, I heard them plinking, so I looked beneath the stall wall, and saw stairs.  The stairs were eye-level with the inside of the stall, so anyone walking down the stairs could see me. 

Right now, I'm reading Brain on Fire, and I'm nervous about what this will do to my mental fortitude.  On deck are The Breathless Zoo, On Longing, and Water Puppets. I am a lucky girl to get books for Christmas.

A tattooed man lets us off the Octopus.
The holidays are always like a Tilt-a-Whirl.  I approach the Tilt-a-Whirl having some fond memory of it. I get in, pull the bar down over my head, and I am SO excited that I squirm and giggle as though I'm 5 again.  It starts moving, and I lean one way, then the other way, then back until I get that son'bitch spinning like mad... and then I start feeling ill, and things start to blur together, and I wonder why I'm putting so much effort into spinning.  A sudden halt, then some man lets me off the ride, and I'm dizzy and exhausted and swearing I'll never do it again.  And then, alas, it's January.  I have spent two months spinning.

This is the first day in the past month that I have actually been home.  The first time I have been still.  The last time I wrote a poem was Dec. 1st, when I enthusiastically committed to writing a poem-a-day with another wonderful group of poets.  I'm not letting the lack of follow-through bother me, though, because during that time I finished & submitted a chapbook manuscript instead. Finally.  That is a nice feeling.
Beet, Chard, & Goat Cheese, Grilled

Also a nice feeling? I have time to clean my fridge today and to roast some beets. I will ask Matthew to make me a rosemary bread and we can eat this amazing sandwich. 

Monday, December 17, 2012

"We must have/ the stubbornness to accept our gladness/ in the ruthless furnace of this world."

So much terrible has happened on levels large and small.  And even normal things that happen to everyone, like babies with a cold or the sweet old lady sitting in the waiting room at the Mental Health clinic, are terrible...  

A friend shared this poem by Jack Gilbert recently.  It feels so much better than other poems circulating on facebook.

I wanted to come here to be happy, and it felt terrible to want to be happy.  But what else is there?

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

My Poem on Linebreak (and pre-Christmas notes)

My poem, "Unfurling," is this week's featured poem on Linebreak!  Check it out! It's read by David Welch, which makes publication more like an event than just a publication. (I clapped after he read it...) 

'Tis the season and whatnot, so I've been tuning into my local stations to  listen to Christmas carols on my way to work.  When I was in high school, we had a Christmas carol trivia contest, and I won.  Sadly, this is something I'm still quite proud of-- a testament to my appreciation of Christmas carols.  So, when I heard Dean Martin's version of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer yesterday... well, I kind of lost it.  Santa has some false German/Russian accent and calls Rudolph "Rudy?"  I don't think so, Dino. Really, you're going to f* with a Christmas carol? Why?  What's wrong with you that you think this is ok? (Drinking is not a good enough answer here.)

Smarter-- make up your own Christmas carol if you want a Russian Santa. "I want a Hippopotamus for Christmas," for example, is a wonderful song that doesn't ruin any other song.  That's ok to do.  That won't hurt baby Jesus's feelings. That won't make me scream at the radio in the cold, over the sound of the heater blowing full-force, while waiting for the lady in front of me to pull ahead a bit so we can both turn left before the light changes back to red... ugh.

And on that note: heading to work. Wish me luck.