It's early

Last night, an Indian woman who I take classes with told me she wanted to dress me up in a sari and make me an Indian bride. I wonder, does she want to arrange a husband for me, too? Hopefully not her skinny 17-year-0ld son.

It's almost 9 a.m., and it feels very early, although I know that I have only six hours left to clean, do laundry, and finish preparing my presentation for Winter Wheat tomorrow. Oh, and pack. It should be more than enough time, but I'm tired and not a morning person. I'm afraid I'm probably going to be sitting at the computer pretending to be productive for another hour or so. Then I will have to rush for the rest of the day.

Tomorrow, those who are lucky enough to attend my session will get to read "Aspic & Buttermilk" by Sharon Olds, "The Gift" by Li-Young Lee, and "Daddy" by Sylvia Plath. (I figured you can't talk about family poems without Sylvia, can you?) I haven't decided if I'm going to share any of my own poems yet. It feels sorta cocky to say "If you want to write a poem about your family, do it like I do" when I haven't gotten anything published yet. On the other hand, I'm afraid it will be suspicious if I don't share my own work.

I am very, very nervous. I shouldn't be. I know WW is a friendly place, and no one is going to boo me, but I am still terrified about this presentation. Hopefully I can shake that feeling with a little more preparation.