Arsenic Lobster (and a bit about teaching and technology)

I've got four poems in the new issue of Arsenic Lobster. Lovely, lovely stuff in there. I've just barely had a chance to nose around. Can't wait to read the rest.

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I'm quite fascinated with Digital Ethnography and am wondering how I might incorporate some of Wesch's ideas into my comp classes (or even poetry, perhaps) the next time I teach (I'll be doing all my hours in the office this coming semester, no teaching until the fall). I think this video would be a great conversation starter in a classroom:

escape

After many days of hanging around the folks' house, running errands with my mom, and only slipping out now and then for "me" time, I've finally hit my limit. I ran away from home.

I'm at Angel Falls in Highland Square, feeling very nostalgic (the smattering of UA professors isn't helping) and lo and behold, my friend Kristina is here. I knew I'd run into someone I'd want to see. Chances are, I'll also run into someone I don't. (No one in particular, in case you're wondering.)

So, I won't blog much today. I came here to write. That's the thing--I can sit around the kitchen table and flip through magazines while Fox News eats away at my soul in the background, but I can't write poems when there's parents, sisters, and doggies everywhere to distract me. Better to come here, where the background noise is unintelligible and the people are wrapped up in other things. Now, to the poems!

my roots

The one in the middle is my great-grandfather.

My dad, circa 1941(ish)

My parents, as newly-weds.

My grandparents, in Mexico. This is the bank-robber grandfather, btw.

My parents' wedding.

spreadsheets, snowboots, & goodreads

I've been building a ginormous spreadsheet of all the lucky journals who are going to have the chance to consider my poems in the next month or so and when I need a break from the geeky Excel stuff, I work on poems. The poems are in worse shape than the spreadsheet. I have a lot of rough drafts, a lot of half-formed ideas. I haven't sat down to make the poems do what poems do in a long time. I'm going to have to before the big winter submission. The HUGE winter submission.

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My Barberton day went swimmingly. The students were sweet and sharp and asked great questions and it was toughtoughtough. I don't know how you high school teachers do it, 5, 6 classes a day, 5 days a week. I admire and am awed by you.

I don't think I'll be banned from Barberton after all.

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I bought a pair of snow boots today. I'm going to hate myself for saying this later, but right now, I can't wait for it to snow so I can wear them. They're cute and furry, but in a subtle way. You know, they're not giant fur leg-warmers like Chippendale dancer boots.

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Flood Year is on Goodreads. I hadn't logged into Goodreads for at least six months, so I didn't know until today. I have one review (from Karen) one person currently reading (Brandi) and I'm on one person's to read list (Susan Slaviero). It's a darn good beginning, I'd say.

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Did you know Costco sells diamonds?

Visiting Writer

Tomorrow, I'm visiting Barberton High School and a dear friend's English classes. This is my first time as a visiting writer and I am extremely excited/extremely nervous. My chapbook, as those of you who've read it know, is sometimes a little...hrm, how do you say...risque? inappropriate for teenagers? As someone who chose to teach college so that I wouldn't have to worry about such things, I'm waaay out of my element here.

I've developed a prompt that is based on my poem "Stella Takes Me to Tucson" but inspired by John Gallaher's post on writing prompts. I'll be asking the students to write about going somewhere they've never been before with someone they think they know well, but maybe don't. If the exercise goes well, maybe I'll post it here, but for now, I'm keeping it to myself.

An interesting coincidence...one of the primary settings of the poems in the chapbook is Barberton. The kids I'll meet tomorrow will have their own stories about Lake Anna, the Dollar General on Wooster Ave...but hopefully not the Star Inn. Should spark some interesting conversations/questions.

Will be back soon to let you know how it went.

Time for change, perhaps?

So, I just claimed saratracey.wordpress.com as my own. One of my sisters goes around the internet signing up for every blogging/free web hosting service using her name as the url just to make sure no one gets it before she does (even though she doesn't blog often) and though I thought this was silly when I first heard it, now it's making a lot of sense. Especially since I've hated the title "Mindful Ramblings" since about five minutes after I decided on it. And because it's not likely I'll ever grow to hate my own name, having that in a url makes a lot more sense. Plus, it'll be much easier to find me at the new blog, so it's all good, right?

I'm going to hang out here a while longer while I get used to how wordpress works and tweak my blog list and that sort of thing, so don't abandon me yet. I'll let you know when it's time to update your links.

Anyway, here's where you come in, faithful readers. What should I call my new blog? "Sara Tracey's Blog" just isn't going to cut it, and though the new title won't be as permanent as MR has felt, I still don't want it to suck--or to decide it sucks five minutes after I name it. The first thing to pop into my mind is "a nickel to tell me," a phrase from this poem (scroll down), but I'm always afraid that it only makes sense to me (I've thought about using it as a section or manuscript title). Any other ideas?

In which I do not work on my paper or study for my Italian exam

I'm manning (err--womaning) the office for the afternoon, and then off to take my Italian exam at 6pm, and in the meantime, I should be doing some homework (studying for said exam, perhaps) but it seems all I can do is toggle back and forth between email and facebook without the energy to actually write any emails or say anything interesting on facebook. I had a little burst of productivity at the beginning of the weekend, but Sunday and so far today have been rather uninspired. The semester is nearly over: in terms of work, I just have the exam, revising 3 poems, finishing the paper for the postcolonial class, and grading 12 portfolios for intro to poetry. In terms of time, I plan to be done with the semester before I start my yoga class at 5:30 on Thursday.

On Saturday, I leave for Ohio, where I'll be for 3 weeks (bring it on, house robbers) hanging out with the folks and their crazy (but lovable) dog.

Looking forward to doing some pleasure reading (too bad there's no new Twilight-esq series to read--or is there?) and getting together some poems to submit--I never managed a fall submission and almost all of my spring/summer subs have come back...no good news. My ego is slightly bruised, so hopefully the next batch will have a better reception.

I guess that's all for now. Have a nice Monday, folks.

it's all downhill from here...

It's that time of the semester...you know, when your days are filled with equal parts panic and procrastination, when you know (because it's happened every semester for the past five years) that you will somehow finish everything even though you can't actually imagine how. The momentum of the semester is such that you can't quite keep up with your laundry or your dirty dishes, but you can find time to watch Grey's Anatomy reruns (again) and take two or three naps while you're "reading." ...when you take a half-hour to update your blog because, clearly, that's the best use of your time.

So, some updates.

Learning Italian
At the moment, I'm at New Wave Coffee, where in a little while I'll be meeting Federica, my Italian conversation partner. This is only our second meeting and quite possibly our last. This is for a couple of reasons, one being that I can't really see myself having time for another meeting before the end of the semester, which I think is when she returns to Italy; the other is that it turns out I don't get to take any more Italian classes, so the urgency to learn has fizzled. I wasn't using very much foresight when I decided to take 4 semesters of a 4-day-a-week class...as a grad student/TA, I just don't have enough control over my schedule. The class I need to finish my coursework on time conflicts with all three sections of Italian 102 next semester.

When found out about this conflict, I started looking into my other options and found out that the Spanish translation test is probably well within my abilities, so that's the new plan. Maybe someday I'll be able to go back and really learn Italian, but it's not going to be possible while I'm getting my PhD.

Intro to Poetry
I think I've learned way more in this class than any of my students, but that's okay. They're improving, they're writing interesting stuff, and they seem to be enjoying themselves. I can't ask for much more my first time out of the gate. In the future, I think I'll spend a lot more time preparing my materials and will without a doubt use a real textbook instead of a course packet. I also don't think I'll spend quite as much time workshopping if I teach this class again. It feels like we're repeating the same conversation every day, every poem, and the students would probably be learning more if we were doing different types of writing exercises, if we continued to read published work throughout the semester, etc. Like I said, I think I've learned a lot more than my students.

Workshop
I'm stumped. I turned in a revision last week that AW hated, completely tore to shreds, and I'm afraid now to revise the rest of the poems for the portfolio. It's so strange how some days she compliments what I'm doing and other days she just throws up her hands. I think one thing I gained during my MFA was the ability to defend my work even when a reader (mentor, even) didn't like what I was doing--but this past year or so has diminished that ability...I don't trust my gut anymore, and so I don't trust my work. I just want to finish a poem and be sure it's done, ready to be out in the world...and I can't remember the last time I felt that way.

Next Semester
The class that makes it impossible for me to continue with Italian is in Renaissance lit. It's not one of my main areas of interest, but it's a real, honest-to-goodness lit class: we'll be reading plays and stories and poems and not just theory! I can't begin to tell you how excited I am about that. I'm also taking two workshops, one poetry (with Christina Pugh) and one non-fiction (with Luis Urrea). It may not be a good idea to take 3 grad level classes, but I'm not teaching next semester, so I think it'll be okay. Plus, I've had this non-fiction project in my head since my last semester at Akron, and my newest poems are leaning toward flash non-fiction, so I really have got to work with Urrea when I have the chance. The best thing, though, about next semester? I only have to be on campus 3 days a week, and I don't have to get up at 6am every day!

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And Federica will be here any minute, so that's all for now. Happy Thanksgiving!

happy

My sister is here, last night I did my second reading since Flood Year came out and then went to Little Joe's to belatedly celebrate my birthday, today we're going to wander around the city like tourists and the weather is perfect.

Compliments from lots of folks, including the department chair and AW, after the reading. Sold a couple of copies. Felt like a rock star.

Karen wrote a little review of Flood Year that's just amazing...I kind of can't believe she's talking about my poems. Thanks so much, Karen!

Rigoberto González had nice things to say about Flood Year and dgp over at Critical Mass. Awesome!

verve

I have been sitting here all night, fighting with the internet, chatting with a poet friend/classmate on facebook, watching Grey's episodes online (when the internet is working)and now it is 11:56, past my bedtime, and I'm not sleepy, but I am tired, and I do have to get up in 5 or 6 hours depending on whether or not I want my hair to look decent tomorrow, but I haven't done any of my homework/grading, and I've figured it's safe to put some of it off until tomorrow night or the next night, but a lot of it (writing a sonnet, revising a poem, reading some Dante) needs to be done by 3pm tomorrow, and minus the time I'll probably spend sleeping, I only have 3 free hours between now and then and usually trying to write in fixed form takes me a really, really long time, and I keep thinking that Anne said I don't have to write the sonnet because I did okay on the sapphics, but it would be good for me anyway, and I'm wondering what's up with this never-ending run-on sentence?

I took my birthday weekend off, officially, but the truth is I've been phoning it in for a couple of weeks. Why? Who knows. Winter doldrums kicking in early? Mid-semester burnout? General laziness? Can't quite put my finger on it. Just know I haven't had much verve lately.

Speaking of verve, Anne also told me my poems have no intensity/focus/urgency. I'm supposed to be revising to find the moment of urgency/intensity/focus that is at the root of each draft. When she said this to me last week, it sounded profound and right and productive and now it just feels heavy and sad and impossible. Oh, she also said I have a small vocabulary. boo.

and now I'm good and depressed and ready for bed. I'll do what I can tomorrow and what doesn't get done will go on the permanent record of things-Sara-didn't-do-well-enough-according-to-her-own-stupid-standards which I think all perfectionists have except I'm a lazy perfectionist and even though I want everything to be perfect I usually don't get there.

self-pity, it's good for my art.

Birthday (and Halloween) redux

I turned 29 yesterday. I'm not one to worry about getting older (for the most part), primarily because I love to celebrate my birthday. Usually, I try to have a huge party and am subsequently disappointed when I end up with a small party. So this year, I started small, stayed small. Four of us went to dinner at Quartino, which is quickly becoming my favorite restaurant in Chicago. We drank too much wine, ate too much food, talked about babies, relationships, school...got a little rowdy and offended people at the next table...and generally had an amazing time. I don't think I've ever had a group of girlfriends that felt as solid as these girls do for me.

I can't quite give up on my love of big, rowdy birthday celebrations, though, so I'll be having a second celebration on Nov. 13 after I read at the Hull House. My sister Carla will be in town, and a lot of folks will already be around for the reading, so it just seemed like a better day for a big party. I'm looking forward to that, too.

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And it wouldn't be right if I didn't mention Halloween. Four of us dressed up as smurfs and went to the costume parade on Halsted street. We were nearly celebrities...everywhere we went, people shouted: "Look, it's the smurfs!" and asked to have their picture taken with us. But really, the best part for me was checking out all the drag queen costumes. I have a bit of a secret obsession. The best was the human disco ball, who I unfortunately couldn't get a very good picture of.

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I did more socializing this past weekend then in the whole month prior, so I'm quite exhausted today and even further behind in my work. I guess that means I should sign off and get to it.

Happy November, folks!

My new (poetry) diet

So, I had a meeting today with my workshop prof, Anne Winters, who I absolutely adore. Her critiques are often scathing, but she is funny, whip-smart, and an invested teacher.

...but, she put me on--what she calls--a poetry diet. Said I'm not allowed to read any more contemporary poetry until I catch up with the canon. I'm supposed to (re)read Bishop, Yeats, Lowell, plus Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, and Balzac before I read another contemporary poem. And that's just what I can remember off the top of my head. There are more names, collected works, giant novels, etc.

Don't get me wrong. I need to read more classics just like I need to eat more vegetables. But if Yeats = broccoli, then Leilani Hall = sour patch kids and A. Van Jordan = potato chips. Broccoli is good, but some days only junk food will do.

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PS - I'm sorry for the bad metaphor, especially at the expense of two of my favorite contemporary poets. The point is, these are things I just can't resist.

Publicity

My chapbook is getting some publicity at the Chicago Poetry Calendar today. Sweet!

And back home, my MFA pal Jason Venner is getting some press, too.

Good things, good things.

lupanare

Lupanare is the Italian word for brothel. It was used in the poem I translated last night and is, I imagine, one of those words that makes serious translators go a little bit crazy. You see, the root of the word--lupa--means shewolf. And there's just no way to bring that into an English translation. It made me a little bit sad to let it go, but I did use "bordello" because it's more fun to say.

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I'm getting a slow start this morning because the one most time consuming thing on my to do list--the one I should have started already instead of blogging--is to read Conscripts of Modernity by David Scott. I hear it's a fascinating book. But it doesn't have anything to do with my interests. You think when you sign up for grad school that you will not have to take classes you don't want to take. Not so. Especially at UIC where two classes is a full load and there are typically only 4 grad seminars offered a semester but you have to take 3 workshops, which means you only have 5 other classes to take, and three of them are the core courses everyone takes, which means you get to choose 2 classes OR take more credits than you have to and even then there's no guarantee that you'll take a single class you like. So far, in my 3 semesters here, there's been ONE grad class on poetry and if you're a long time reader, you already know I hated it.

I cannot wait to start reading for my exams. At least then I'm the one picking the topics.

And...rant over.

Now Available!!

Yep, that's right. You can buy your very own copy of my chapbook now. Just click here: Flood Year

But...there are several folks who will be getting little presents in their mailboxes as soon as I get my next batch of copies. I thought I'd go to UA when I was in Ohio to hand-deliver some copies to friends and mentors, but my family snatched up all my author copies. I also owe some folks a trade, so you all will be getting those too.

Otherwise, I hope you'll think about buying a copy and supporting dancing girl press, which does such great work.

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I translated a poem about sailors and prostitutes tonight. From Italian. It was fun. The poem is "Citta` vecchia" (Old City) by Umberto Saba. Next up: a poem in sapphics. I guess that means three lines of 11 syllables each plus one line of five syllables, repeat as desired. I'm terrified because it isn't just about counting syllables, but also about counting stresses, and I have a tin ear. You'll never catch this girl writing sonnets or blank verse. Well, never say never.

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What a strange, strange world this is. I still can't believe I live in Chicago. I still can't believe it's almost winter.

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My sister Carla is coming to visit in a few weeks. I can't wait to do touristy things with her and introduce her to my friends.

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Workshop started in my intro to poetry class. It's going so, so much better than the first half of the semester did. Some of my students are really talented and they are all working really hard. I'm proud of them and (finally) excited to walk into the classroom every day. I feel like a big nerd, but I love it. Oh, and the number of students who have come to see me during office hours has quadrupled in the last week. That's always fun.

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I'm happy in a sad way right now. Does that make any sense to anyone?

reluctantly heading back

I don't know why I always take pictures out the window of the megabus.

Lots to do on this ride: have to write a response to Kant's "What is Enlightenment," write a poem (Gary and I have switched from poem-a-day to poem-a-week, with a Monday deadline. Somehow I'm always scrambling on Monday night.), read some Dante, and finish some Italian homework. Once that's done, I'll either try to watch some House episodes online or read Rita Dove's Sonata Mulattica. (I'm about 50 pages in--so far, so good.) There'll probably be some napping, too.

I'm not quite ready to be heading back to the city/back to school. I already miss my peoples.

I'm the happiest girl in the world

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Kristy Bowen did such a great job with the cover and she's such a pleasure to work with. I couldn't be happier with my new chapbook. The reading last night was delightful, and for the first time since I finished my MFA, I feel like a Poet, a Real Poet. I think I'll be smiling for days.

don't worry

I think it's just a run-of-the-mill chest cold. Still, it's perfectly crappy timing, what with the reading on Friday and Ohio next week. I hate bringing germs to Ohio and my mother and her borrowed lung and compromised immune system. Hopefully I'm better by then.

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I did something unwise over the weekend, and I think I'll continue to do unwise things all my life because they are oh-so-good for poem starters. Like the little half-egg carton full of fire-starters that girl scout leaders take to camp, I carry all my stupid decisions with me and pull one out when the kindling is damp. If everything I did was premeditated and made perfect sense, I would definitely not be a writer.

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Tomorrow is the deadline for the Juniper prize, which I had originally planned to submit to, but I've been lazy the last few days (blame it on the cold) and am not totally ready. Then I was looking over the guidelines and realized the Juniper prize isn't a first book contest, and well, maybe I don't want to enter open competitions. Am I just making excuses so I can miss another deadline, or am I being smart and saving $25 on a contest I have no chance of winning?

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Time to go to Italian class. Ciao.

a little of this, a little of that

I made a pot roast today, and even though I got advice from almost everyone in my immediate family on how to do it properly, I was still disappointed. And then I remembered: I don't even like pot roast. But I love the potatoes that go with it. So for the potatoes, it was worth it. And the meat was on sale for super cheap so meh, no big deal.

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When I called my sister Beth to ask about the pot roast, she said she misses me more when I don't blog. So, I guess I'm going to try to blog more.

Speaking of missing people, I'm heading to Ohio in two weeks. This is the longest I've gone (10 weeks) without a trip to Ohio since I moved here. It gets easier but it's still so freaking hard. I wouldn't have to make pot roast for one if I lived closer to my family...

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My poem-a-day experiment is failing. As usual, the first two weeks were strong, the last two weeks not so much. But still, I'll have 10+ drafts to revise (and another 10 or so to throw away).

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I proofed the galleys for Flood Year this morning. It really is happening! (ps - Karen, you'll be getting a copy of my chapbook as soon as I get my author copies. As will the rest of you who I've promised to trade with.)

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I still haven't sent out In the Weeds. I'm thisclose, though, I swear. Just have to fix the page numbers, print it out, and label the envelopes.

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Some days, I still don't know what the heck I'm doing in academia, what the heck I'm doing in front of a classroom, or even how to write a poem...but for the most part, life is making more sense than it has in a long time. Ssshhh, I don't want to jinx it.

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I take back what I said about Italian class. I study about 10 minutes a day and have a 98% so far, so I guess the way my instructor teaches works just fine. On my first oral assignment, I lost two points for my "midwestern accent." Guess I'm gonna have to work on that...

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I think I'm coming down with the swine flu. You see, normally, I would say "I think I'm getting a cold" but since we get URGENT ANNOUNCEMENTS about once a week from the administration about dealing with excessive absences and sneezing into our elbows to contain H1N1, I'm pretty sure this sneezing and coughing I'm doing today is going to lead to my imminent demise.

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My friend Andy invited me out tonight, and I said yes (before I realized I had the swine flu) and he said he'd text me later to let me know where. I just got the text and we're going to the Skylark which makes me unhappy for several reasons, first because it's in Pilsen which is like 800 miles away (okay, so an hour+ on CTA and 30 min/30 bucks in a cab), second because the last time I was there I am pretty sure I left a $60 tip (because I was embarrassed for drinking too much because the bartender was my student [In my defense, we were celebrating the last day of the first year of our PhD program]), and lastly because the beer there is not cheap. On the other hand, I've been a bit more antisocial than usual so far this semester, so I guess I can suck it up for one night.

Here I go...

October 2

I'm sorry I've been away. I've been busy.

What brings me back? Self-promotion. Please come see me read next Friday. Details below.
(PS - Forecast calls for a Flood Year. I know, I'm cheesy.)

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First Friday Series

7:30-9:30 PM

St Paul’s Cultural Center
2215 W North Avenue
October 2nd

1st Friday Series presents dancing girl press poets:

Sara Tracey
Rachel Jamison Webster
Sarah Gardner
Jen Blair

Now Hosted by the Waiting 4 the Bus Collective!

2+ blocks west of the Damon Blue Line stop
Street parking available

Beer, wine, soft drinks available @ cool-low prices
Free Admission
Donation Requested

The First Friday Poetry Series is a Poetry Green Zone

And on the third day

she went to school to use the internet and the printer. And to sit in a little room that makes her feel like she has to be productive because it is her office (one of her offices) and she is expected (by someone she calls "boss") to stay on task when she is in this office.

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Okay. Enough referring to myself in the third person. But it's true. Now that I have this administrative job (it's only ten hours a week, but it still counts), I feel so much more productive. Especially when I'm in the office. I share it with 3 others, but we're never in it at the same time, so it feels like mine. It's not like the 1/2 of a cubicle I have downstairs, or the bullpen I worked in last year. It's a real room with a door and windows and a computer and a desk and a printer and I'm here to be productive. I've crossed everything off my list for today except: 1) write two poems and 2) write a reading response. I should do the reading response before I get tired and hungry and decide to go home. But I want to write the two poems so I can email this week's Poem-a-Day results to Gary. I have to write two poems today because yesterday I forgot. I wasn't too busy, I just forgot. I wasn't in a poem-y space.

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But before I finish my to do list, there's something I've been wanting to blog about. Well, that makes it sound serious and important. It's just, I seem to come here so often when I'm stressed, but I also go to those blogs listed to your right when I'm stressed, and they make me feel better. So, here's a list of blogs that are almost as good as chocolate for making my day a little bit better:

Blogs that make me want to write poems:
Radish King
21 km up the valley
Chicks Dig Poetry
independent study

Blogs that make me happy:
Intagliod Up in Blue
Lorcaloca
Pugnacious Pinoy
budajest
corn shake

Blogs that make me want to take better care of myself:
The Brother Swimming Beneath Me
Book of Kells

So, thanks bloggers, for making me a little less cranky and a little less crazed.

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Back to the list.

Since I've got five minutes

Here's what's happening:

Joshua Corey is reading at the Jane Addams Hull House @ UIC tonight. Yours truly will be introducing him. Odd, introducing someone you've never met.

Gary and I are challenging each other to a Poem-a-Day in September. So far, 2 decent drafts, 1 silly/sleepy draft. (By the way--I think Gary should update his blog, don't you?) Maybe over the weekend I'll post the drafts.

Italian class is not un disastro anymore, but I'm not enjoying having class 4 days a week.

My Intro to Poetry class has its ups and downs, though I think these are directly related to the amount of sleep I got the night before. I'm still not used to teaching at 9.

And my five minutes are up. Have a nice weekend, folks.

in the interest of balance...

a happy post:

today, my poetry class was excellent.

but then there's this:

I open up a poem draft and find a stanza I forgot writing.

I have to believe someday teaching poetry will be like writing poetry: I won't even know I got it right until later.

those who can't do...teach?

I might have mentioned it once or twice before, but damn! teaching is hard.

Deciding what to teach is hard. Deciding how to teach it: even harder. Prepping class notes: tough. Standing in front of a classroom and putting your brain/soul on display: nearly impossible. Grading/annotating with the right amount of encouragement and criticism: exhausting.

Maybe some of you are naturals, but not me. This is the hardest job in the world.

And I want so badly to be good at it, to be inspiring, to share this thing that I love with people who might fall in love with it, too. I want to be Mr. Keating, except without the depressing turn of events at the end. I want to make people stand up on their desks and see the world in a way they didn't before. Why isn't it as easy as it looks in the movies? And why aren't I as funny as Robin Williams?

Oh lordy - part 2, or Wait, you guys aren't freshmen

Did I tell you about the freaky teaching dream I had last week? The one where I totally lost control of the classroom and everyone walked out except for two people who stayed just to tell me I sucked? I thought I was about to have deja vu today.

Okay, it wasn't that bad. But my intro to poetry students are 1) not very enthusiastic and 2) sharp. I'm bummed about #1 and hoping I can turn it around and psyched about #2 but also intimidated. I was nervous and they looked bored. Not a good combination.

And since they're smart, they've probably found this blog and I probably shouldn't be writing about them. But what would I write about if not my fears of being an inadequate teacher?

Friday will be better. Cross my heart and hope to die.

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I'm not the new kid on campus anymore. I can't go anywhere without running in to someone from the English dept or a student. Sometimes I just want to be anonymous.

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Italian 101 update: the letter combination "ci" is pronounced with a ch sound. the letters "chi" are pronounced with a k sound. Are they just trying to confuse me? Our first listening exercise is due tomorrow and I'm guessing I failed miserably.

They say that introverts acquire language first through reading and writing, while extroverts acquire language through speaking and listening. If y'all hadn't noticed, I'm an introvert. It is driving me batshit crazy in class when the instructor doesn't give me 1/2 a second to think about what he's just said or written on the board. He says we learn from repetition, but I'm not really interested in parroting what he says when I have no idea what it means or how the grammar works. Apparently I'm going to have to teach myself Italian, just like I taught myself Math for Liberal Arts (yep, it's a real class) in college--which is to say I'll learn more from the text book than from the teacher.

Disclaimer: I'm not saying my Italian instructor is bad at his job. I think he's great, and I wouldn't be able to do what he does. But I don't learn the way he teaches. Most people do...so I just have to learn to compensate. Means I'll be spending a lot more time on my homework than I imagined.

I did learn something in class, though. If you ask me how my day was, I can say "un disastro." Yes, it's a cognate.

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This may somehow turn into the semester of Dante's Inferno. We'll be reading Pinksy's translation of it in workshop and I'm thinking about writing a paper about it for my lit class. This is a very unformed plan right now, but it could happen. Yes, I admit, I'm thinking ahead to exam lists.

*

I haven't written a poem since I returned from Ohio. Good thing I have to turn in two next week.

*

Is it really only Wednesday? I'm so ready for the weekend. Going to bed really early is not nearly as satisfying as sleeping in really late. The alarm is set for 5:30am. Ick.

*

How'd I do on the spewing, R?

Oh lordy

Seriously? It's Tuesday. It's the second day of the first week of the semester and already I am overwhelmed, exhausted, and running behind.

*

Italian 101: It's really weird taking a class that I could be teaching--you know, if it was in a different language. What I mean is this: the folks who are usually my students are now my classmates/groupmates/study partners. Weird.

Also weird: taking Italian when I have very rusty Spanish in my head. For example, how am I supposed to keep this straight? (The phrases below both mean "how do you say..."):

Spanish: como se dice (there should be accent marks in there somewhere)
Italian: come si dice

Pronunciation is the really hard part..."dice" in Spanish is dee-say (okay, my linguistics professors would be cringing at my phonetic spelling, but whatever) but in Italian, "dice" is pronounced dee-chay. How am I going to remember this? I'm so confused and it's only the first day!

*

The first day of intro to poetry was uneventful. Tomorrow the students are bringing in their favorite poems. I'm very curious.

*

What am I doing here? I have to do my Italian homework and answera million emails before the stolen wireless gods steal my connection.

Thief

This internet connection does not belong to me. Who knows how long I'll get to keep it.

Life is getting very busy these days. And, surprisingly, I'm enjoying myself--even when I'm thinking about/working on UIC stuff. Perhaps I'm making progress. Fingers crossed.

Can't believe it's the last weekend of summer...

beware, grumpy post below

--poof--

Dear Universe,

I'm sorry. I'll try to stop spewing my venom in public.

Sara

A little more navel gazing...

Life has been full and oddly overwhelming lately. I'm not busy in the normal sense of the word, but I'm keeping myself busy and keeping my mind full (ha! mindful. I'm such a dork) with teaching ideas, poetry ideas, who-the-hell-am-I-and-what-the-hell-am-I-doing ideas. I don't have internet or cable at home, so I've been reading fiction in the quite hours when I'd normally zone out in front of a flickering screen. I read A Million Little Pieces* in one day. Then The House of Sand and Fog, and now I'm half-way through Pigs in Heaven. This is easily the most non-critical prose I've read since I took a class on creative non-fiction during my MFA.

(*Regardless of the Oprah debacle, it's questionable how much of Frey's "memoir" is memoir, especially in light of the tidbit I heard somewhere that Frey pitched it as a novel, but memoir was so hip at the time that his publisher convinced him otherwise... anyway, this is unsubstantiated rumor, but I'm still thinking the book is a novel.)

I'm excited and terrified to teach Intro to Poetry Writing this semester, and have been spending a tremendous amount of time compiling the course packet which essentially is a mini-anthology of the poems that helped me figure out how to be a poet. Of course, I'm still figuring that out, so the thing never feels done and I'm convinced that once I drop it off for copies, I'm going to realize that I left out the most important poems. I guess that's why there are xerox machines, right? I couldn't bring myself to use a textbook or stock anthology because this is the first time I get to teach what I love, and I wanted as much control over it as possible. Now I'm thinking: what the heck do I know about poetry? and just hoping that my excitement for it will cover up the gaps in what I don't know. I'm hoping to post a more substantial something on transitioning from comp instructor to teacher-of-what-I-love sometime soon, but not today.

As for my solipsism: I'm busy putting Humpty-Dumpty back together again after what I can only describe as the most difficult year of my life. Who would have thought that moving to a new city could completely decimate a person's self-ness? Okay, maybe decimate is the wrong word. Maybe scramble. Maybe perforate. Maybe shred.

Tomorrow is the anniversary of the day I got in the car filled with all my stuff and drove six hours to this big, crowded, scary place and started trying to make it fit. Today, I can say it sort-of, almost does. But the me who sorta-kinda fits here today isn't the me who showed up 364 days ago and that's what I'm trying to understand. I did some massively stupid, self-destructive things while ostensibly trying to survive, and I'd like to be able to explain, someday, to myself and the people those actions affected, why I acted the way I did. Right now, I can't even come close, except to say I was sad and lonely. But that doesn't feel like an answer.

More importantly--or at least of more immediate importance--are the questions I have about my work and my place at UIC. I'm still having trouble finding a poetic community here, probably because there are not a lot of poets in the program to begin with, and the ones I know are primarily working on dissertations and not taking workshops with me. I'm also struggling to see my exam committee, and the dissertation committee that follows it, coming together. I'm not sure what my lists are going to be and I'm not sure who I'd like to work with. Unfortunately, I do know who I don't want to work with and I don't like that feeling. I'm hoping that I can slap a quick coat of paint over the mistakes I made last year academically and be more productive and positive this year.

Aaaah....I could go on and on about this, but I have many more things to take care of in my tiny little window of internet time today.

Sorry, world...

too much going on these days--and too little internet time--to worry about blogging much.

I'm totally unpacked and settled into the new place (only a month after I move in) and getting a lot done in terms of poetry and class prep. The best part? Reading two blogger-buddies' kick-ass manuscripts.

Thinking about my family, especially my mom, tonight, and wishing I was still with them.

Going to go home now, pour a glass of wine, and stare out the window. It's that kind of night.

blurry

I never got around to posting pictures of the horses because they all came out terrible, and after the first couple days, the novelty of running around with my camera pretending to be a photographer ran out. But here are a couple of blurry ones from dinnertime one night. The white guy is my pal, Banjo, and the black one is Stevie (named for Stevie Nicks, btw). There are three others who, unfortunately, won't be represented here.


And one last pic of Taylor and Turbo, my constant companions while I was on the farm. They are the cutest, sweetest things I've ever seen. I really wanted to take them home with me.


So, now comes the fun part--packing the suitcase and getting ready for the overnight bus ride. I'm ready to be home, although that feels a little suspect since I only lived in my apartment a week before I came here. I'm no where near unpacked, so it's going to be a little stressful when I get back. And before I know it, school again. Hoping I can pack a little more summer into these last two weeks.

Anyway, good-bye Ohio, I'll miss you dearly. But not as badly as last August.

with mixed feelings

My time on the farm is nearing its end. The travelers begin the long trek home tomorrow morning and by Friday, I'll be back at Mom and Dad's house for the weekend before my midnight megabus ride home on Sunday/Monday.

I'm anxious to get back to my apartment, to finish unpacking & get organized before the semester begins, to see my friends. I'm not anxious to return to the city, the el, the concrete and constant noise.

And while I'm anxious to get back to real life, I'm also wishing I had another week or so here (or that I could rewind a week or so) to be more productive. Television seems to be my Achilles heel when it comes to productivity, and I have lost many, many hours to CSI reruns and other brain-draining nonsense (on the upside, I finally saw Juno, which I loved). I'm fighting the urge to turn on the crack box as we speak.

I didn't do much reading--a Nora Roberts novel, the first few chapters of The House on the Hill, a Cesare Pavese novel (still working on that one), a bit of Ted Hughes' Birthday Letters, and MacNolia by A. Van Jordan (a reread, but well worth it). Also, I don't think I ever made it to 10 pages, but definitely over five, and still working on a long poem which should get me to the goal (two weeks late). I spent a good chunk of time on my Intro to Poetry syllabus, and another good chunk of time catching up with friends...so it wasn't all wasted time. But I do wish I could get back the time I spent watching Wife Swap, at least. Oh, and napping. I did a lot of napping...too bad you can't bottle that--I think I'm going to have a sleep deprived semester ahead of me.

So, was my stay in the country a success? The jury's still out. It'll depend on whether or not I arrive back in Chicago energized and driven...or if I just pout and mope because I'm back in the city. One thing I am sure of--I'd still pick this lifestyle over city living any day of the week. So cross your fingers for me that when I go on the job market in a few years, there's a small town college looking to hire a poet.

And now, back to the to do list--not the TV.

meme

Is it a meme if you don't tag anyone? I tagged people on facebook. But I like this one so much I have to do it here, too. If you like it, consider yourself tagged.

*
My Life According to the Indigo Girls

The rules:
Using only song names from ONE ARTIST, cleverly answer these questions. Pass it on to 12 people you like and include me. You can't use the band I used. Try not to repeat a song title. It's a lot harder than you think! Repost as "My Life According to (BAND NAME)"


Pick Your Artist: Indigo Girls

Are you a male or female?: Dairy Queen

Describe yourself: Girl With the Weight of the World in Her Hands

How do you feel: Closer to Fine

Describe where you currently live: Starkville

If you could go anywhere, where would you go: Come on Home

Your favorite form of transportation: scooter boys

Your best friend is: Hope Alone

Your favorite color is: Bitterroot

What's the weather like: Southland in the Springtime

Favorite time of day: Cold Beer & Remote Control

If your life was a tv show, what would it be called: Language or the Kiss

What is life to you: Moment of Forgiveness

Your fear: I don’t wanna talk about it

What is the best advice you have to give: Love Will Come to You

If you could change your name, you would change it to: Cordova

Thought for the Day: Shame on You

My soul's present condition: Fill It Up Again

My motto: Everything in its own time

funk

Yesterday was such a good, good day, I can't figure out why I woke up in a funk today.

I keep thinking about stupid things I've said and social foibles and flat-out unfriendly things I've done and wishing I could clean up my past as easily as I can clean up my wall on facebook.

I'll get better at this being a grown-up thing eventually.

menagerie

The dogs can't decide...inside or out. They want me to share my lunch (garlic mashed potatoes) but I'm not going to because they're not supposed to beg.

I was told the birds only squawked when they were hungry, but they've been fed and are still squawking.

The horses seem to be uncomfortable walking through the mud. The pretty ones make out when no one else is around. The old one farts when he walks.

The cat with one ear is staring at me. The cat with blue eyes is also staring at me. The fat one grunts when she gets on and off the couch.

I've only spotted one possum--but there's evidence of raccoons and skunks, too.

I won't even mention the Goat Man.

*
*
*

And now the little dog is doing unspeakable things to the cat with one ear.

I feel dirty.

A much needed ego boost

After Hours has accepted my poem "Advice from a Hotel Maid" for their next issue. That's two journals/five poems in less than a week.

Thanks, universe, I needed this.

My regular readers will know that my confidence as a poet/academic/person has taken a hit this last year, what with my rather uninspired transition to city living and PhD work. It's good to be reminded, even in this small, largely subjective way, that some folks (besides the ones that love me already) appreciate my work.

Two of the poems were written during my MFA, one was written while I was still in Akron playing the adjunct game, and two were written during my first semester in Chicago. I think that's a pretty good spread.

*

I got sucked into the abyss that is cable (err--satellite) television for the last couple of days and have not met my goal, which was to write ten pages in less than a week (okay, originally it was to write ten pages in 3 days, then five, then in less than a week). My friend Kristina is coming to the farm to talk poetry on Wednesday, so the new goal is to have ten pages by the time she gets here. I do have 2 new pages, so that's 8 that I still need. I'm channeling Maggie Anderson here, and her 10-pages-in-a-weekend assignment that kicked my ass/provided a much needed break-through in my writing the summer that I was working on my thesis.

Speaking of Maggie Anderson and the post-Bisbee writing assignment, I should give a shout-out to this year's Wick Fellows, including my friend Frank. I think they're starting their workshop tomorrow and will be heading out to Arizona next week, but I could be wrong. At any rate, I wish them much joy and artistic inspiration and camaraderie.

*

And before I go, one more picture of my idyllic home in the country. I'm so wishing I could stay forever.

morning musings

*

I still wish I was a better photographer. Or at least knew better how to use my camera.

*

4 poems accepted for Arsenic Lobster this morning! Now comes the fun part: writing withdrawal notes. Also, they want a "less academic, more lively" bio. This is one of my greatest fears...having to stray from the form and say something interesting about myself. Perhaps one of you should write my lively bio...

*

I haven't left the farm since Monday afternoon. I made some progress on Monday and Tuesday, but yesterday, I watched TV most of the day. There are a million things I want to do while I'm here, but I also have to remind myself I'm kind of on vacation. This is the first time since, oh, I don't know, 2006 that I haven't had to work and also haven't had any real (read: professor enforced) deadlines. I have to allow myself to relax and decompress a bit. I'll be here two weeks--I don't have to get everything done in the first three days.

*

I was going to try to quit drinking coffee while I was here, but that's not working. Also, made a rule back in May that I wasn't allowed to drink alone anymore, mainly because I always buy a bottle of wine and then don't finish it, thus wasting money, but I've been drinking wine on the porch every night, all by myself. So much for rules/resolutions.

*

Today is my sister's birthday. Happy Birthday, Beth!

*

I think I'm going to have taco bell for lunch. Then I'm going to go to one of the street side produce stands and have something very fresh and very healthy for dinner. Hopefully there will be zucchini involved. Maybe even an eggplant.

*

I guess that's all I've got for now. I'm sure it was terribly boring.

wildflowers

and slowly, the grass and the trees and the flowers and the big open sky are pulling my self back to my self.

Day 1 wrap up

Revised three poems today. Or rather, turned three crappy drafts into poems. I'd call my first day in the country a success.

I also laid out in the sun, got a little color (sorry sun-screen fanatics, I'm all about tan lines) and read a romance novel. But don't tell. I should have been reading Ted Hughes or Karl Marx.

By the way, Nora Roberts circa 1983 is phenomenally bad. I mean, way, way worse than Nora Roberts circa 2003. Apparently, even romance novelists have room for improvement.

Let's call it a residency

So here I am, on the farm. It's not house sitting, it's a mini-residency with horse privileges.
I'm the luckiest girl in the world.
I might never go back to Chicago.

This is where I'll be spending most of my time.
And this is the view from the front door.
And this is Taylor and Turbo, who have been right there guarding the driveway ever since their people left. I imagine they'll stay right there until they come back. Pictures of the horses coming soon.

Forgive me for not staying, I'm off to breathe in the clean, country air.

randomness

Some of the things my weekend will include:

• a drink with Anne
• much, much unpacking and organizing
  
• cleaning my old apartment
• trying to figure out where to drop off my old modem
  
• packing for my 3 week trip to Ohio
• driving to Ohio (third 6 hour drive in three weeks. Fun!)

*

I don't have internet access at home anymore. Trying to save money/be more productive. This has already changed my internet habits. Blogging just doesn't seem so important--but facebook still does. We'll see how/if that changes as I get more used to only being online once a day.

*

I will probably be blogging while I'm farm sitting, though, since they have wireless and I'll be taking pictures of horses and wild flowers and such.

*

That's all for now. Have a nice weekend.

Almost nearly

I move to my new place tomorrow. I'm almost nearly ready. Have to walk over to the Uhaul place a couple blocks away to get more boxes. I always run out, which usually isn't a big deal, bc I just start throwing stuff in trashbags and whatnot, but the movers won't appreciate that so I have to buy boxes. Sacrilegious.

*

I've taken to sleeping in such a position that my shoulder almost always hurts. Will someone please tell my joints that I am still in my 20's and not ready for them to start mutinying? (I can't believe mutinying is actually a word. Weird.) Will someone please tell sleeping me to roll over and put her arm in a normal position?

*

There was much revelry on Thursday and Friday nights, so by Saturday, the actual holiday (as you know) I was all out of my being-around-people fuel and sat around moping last night and being pissed at the neighbors for lighting off fireworks in a very unsafe manner. I know I was just in Ohio and am going back in a week, but I really wished I was at home for the holiday weekend--for mom's lung transplant anniversary and for sparklers with Philip the cutest five year old boy on the planet and for fireworks in the dark--on the upside, I did go to a yacht club party where they had white zinfandel for $1 and the band played country. They also played a little MJ for us, and man, I've never seen people get so excited about dancing/singing along to 'Billie Jean". I was on a sort-of-but-not-really date with the bass player of the band, which made me feel super cool, except for the part at the end of the night when I realized that the sort-of-but-not-really date would be our last. I guess it's better to figure that out right away instead of wondering for three days if he'll call. And why am I talking about this here? I don't blog about dating. Sigh.

*

I feel like summer is about to end. I move tomorrow and will be settling in for the next few days and then on Sunday I head back to Ohio for my 3-week house sitting gig. Then it's August when I get back and I have my first pre-semester meeting on August 17. Poof. Summer's over. But oh, how I look forward to my three weeks in the woods. I'll be so happy to be there I won't even mind the mosquitos.

I'm in love

with my new apartment. Can't wait til I'm all moved in.

Okay, so maybe a little blogging

In the city, it's easy to forget that season changes are about more than the temperature. Driving across Indiana and Ohio, spending the weekend at my parents' house in the country, I remembered that summer is about cornfields, tiger lilies, wheat fields, wild flowers. Summer is driving with the windows open and kind of loving the smell of manure, even though it takes your breath away, because it reminds you of being a kid and going to the fair. Trying to count how many shades of green are in view. Watching leaves turn upside down and silver just before it rains. Summer isn't just heat and humidity, box fans, searching for shade or A/C. It's about the real world--the natural world. I needed to remember that.

*

My family, especially my mom, is going through a stressful time. I wish I could stay with her longer and take some of the burden off.









*

I don't think I'm going to send out my manuscript today. Two (maybe three) reasons. 1) I don't want to send it out just because I told myself I would, when I know it's not quite ready, 2) I'm moving on Monday and packing seems a lot more important, and sort of 3) I'm procrastinating.

Yes, choosing to miss a self-imposed deadline to do other things is technically procrastinating. And maybe if I just sat down with it for a couple of hours, it would feel ready, but I don't want to force it. Still, I swear it will go out this summer. I just need to be more on top of it when the next set of deadlines comes up.

For the record

I'm proud to be a wicked alice contributor and a future dancing girl press author.

I've been away

but now I'm back.

I get my keys for the new place tomorrow. This week, I will be packing. Perhaps not blogging.

Tomorrow is my self-imposed manuscript submission deadline/goal, but I didn't get any work done over the weekend. Shall I stay up late and finish my edits tonight? We'll see.

Financial Freedom closer than it seems?

Could it be true?

"MFA programs are still the best way we have to make sure that people who want to become writers shut the fuck up, sit down, and spend a couple, three years writing a lot. That means something very important."

Amen.

Summer in the City

It's supposed to be 93 today, but it'll "feel like" 98. Joy.

P.S. By the time I was six, I knew all the words to this song. It was on a McDonalds Golden Oldies tape of "Summertime Hits." Oh, how I loved that tape and wished I had been born in the 50's instead of the 80's. I would have looked good in a poodle skirt. Oh, and I was invited to a theme party this weekend where I would have gotten to wear a poodle skirt, but alas, I'll be in Ohio.

mashup

It's almost too hot to drink my coffee this morning. It's not actually that hot outside, but my apartment is retaining all of yesterday's heat. Normally, I would just pack up my things and go to the nearest air conditioned coffee shop with free wifi, but I'm on a budget, and that budget does not include $4 coffees (which are the only kind I like, anyway). Nor does it include three glasses of wine at the bar around the corner where I go sometimes to work on Sunday afternoons. So I'm going to suffer through the heat as long as I can. And try to drink my coffee anyway.

*

Speaking of being on a budget, Kelli had an interesting post (via Tatyana) about money yesterday. She/they ask "what does financial freedom look like?" For me:

1) Being out of debt. My car is mine, my education is mine, and my money is mine.
2) Living in a home I love--this could be an apartment I rent or a place I own, just as long as I love it. And have the cash to properly furnish it. No more hand-me-down couches and dumpster diving coffee tables.
3) Being able to buy gifts, nice ones, for the people I love. No budget.
4) Vacations. To places I've never been before.

The debt is, of course, the big one. The one that looms over the next 20 years like a UFO waiting to suck me up and do bad things to me. Could I have taken fewer student loans over the last four years? Can I take fewer or be more responsible with the loans I take over the next four? I guess some people make their stipends work for them, or work 2nd jobs all through grad school, but I a) can't live on 14K when I have rent and a car payment and b) can barely keep my shit together with just my responsibilities to school--working a second job would probably lead to a complete breakdown.

I thought about selling my car & eating the loss since I don't really need a car right now. But then I started thinking long term. Right around the same time I'm going to be needing a car (presumably I'm not going to find a job in Chicago or NYC after graduation), I'm going to be having to pay back my student loans. My car will be 9 years old by then, but it will probably get me through at least the first few months post phd if I'm good to it now.

Anyway...I just thought Tatyana's question was interesting. I didn't plan on fretting about my loans.

*

Rebecca Loudon is the nicest poet in blogland, I think. She did something very sweet and unexpected for me and I can't stop smiling when I think about it.

*

I think, think, I have a plan for manuscript #2 (which I'm tentatively calling This is Not a Harvest [doh! I didn't realize: book 1 = weeds, book 2 = harvest. this might not work]) and manuscript #3 (which has no working title yet). I just have to decide which one to work on first (I have 5-10 drafts for each of them already). Joshua Corey is doing a visiting writer gig at UIC this fall, and I have to put together a portfolio and a little artist statement before I can work with him, so, decision time. The portfolio is due on July 15, so I have less than a month to figure it out.

*

Still purging in preparation for next month's move. I've already gotten rid of 2 trash bags full of clothes, and I think there's at least one more to go. I went through my shelves but could only part with one small pile of books. And the papers...sheesh, I'm barely making a dent but I've worked on those files for hours and hours. That's probably what I'll spend most of today on.

*

Geesh. This has got to be one of my most boring blog posts ever. If you read all the way to the end you should get a prize.

On another topic entirely

I'm very greedy with my time. That's why I don't want children. Or pets (I've decided, after cat sitting for two weeks, that I'm not ready--and perhaps never will be ready--to have another living being dependent on me).

I know this is counter productive, but I like to know that I have full days--from the moment I wake up to the moment I go to bed--where I won't have to talk to anyone or leave my apartment. On these days, I feel like I can accomplish anything. But it has to be the whole day. No interruptions.

Which is why I'm writing this. Because I sort of have one of those days, except I should really go for a walk before it gets to be 95 degrees again (okay, so it's really only supposed to get to 85), and since I'm part of the working world, Saturday is the day you're supposed to do laundry, and the peapod guy is coming today because I was going to go grocery shopping yesterday, but the weather was awful so I just went online instead (by the way, it doesn't matter how much canned/frozen food you have if you don't have time to cook).

So. I'm wearing this embarrassing hippie dress that is not at all flattering but is nice and breezy to wear in the summer when my apartment is an inferno/sauna and I don't want to have to change into real world clothes that are required for leaving my apartment. And I don't want to have to try to deal with my amazingly frizzy hair. I just want to be a hermit. Is that too much to ask?

Apparently so, or I wouldn't be here venting about it.

Names for things

I was listening to poems on From the Fishouse yesterday. There was a line from a Barbara Jane Reyes poem that keeps skittering through my head: "In my native tongue, breath is word is spirit. I can think of no single, adequate translation."

I don't know multiple languages--at least not well enough to be aware of the disconnects inherent in translation--but I have been thinking about the shortcomings of language. Today, I'm thinking about the word homesick.

All yesterday morning, I watched black clouds creeping south across the Chicago skyline. At noon, the sky opened up and for a couple of minutes, the air seemed to turn to water. The afternoon was hot, muggy, stiff. But last night the sky opened up again. The gates of all the fences flapped open, the dumpsters danced in the alleys, screens literally blew out of my windows, and I sat, rather stupidly, I admit, right in front of my patio and watched it all. And remembered the first night I spent here in this apartment. Remembered the weeks that followed, and how it hurt to be here.

Then, homesickness was physical--I was sick for weeks with this dry, hacking cough that finally made me decided to quit smoking (and okay, maybe I was just sick, too, but I think I would have gotten better quicker if I hadn't been homesick), exhausted, weak. But the mental/emotional side was hell, too. Being constantly nervous and uncomfortable because nothing was familiar, aching to see my family and friends (and okay, trying to make a long distance relationship work and ultimately not doing so didn't help either). During those first six weeks, the six weeks when I decided I had to immerse myself in my new life if I was ever going to adapt, I thought the homesickness might just kill me.

Here's where the problem with language/naming comes in: today, I'm homesick. But it's nothing like what I just described. It's a restlessness. I want to get in the car and drive. I want to put this stuffy little apartment behind me. But god, how I miss my parents and my sisters. I was talking to my mom about the upcoming visit and she said she would be so happy when Carla and I both got home because then she would feel whole again. And yes, that's how I'll feel, too, when I'm sitting at the kitchen table and the people who make me who I am are there with me. I'll feel whole.

So, today I'm homesick, but not homesick like I was here, and so, to bring it back to where I started--shouldn't there be words distinguishing the degrees of things--you know, besides "very" and "really" and all the other words we teach our freshmen to avoid?

Anyway, a week from now, I'll be hanging out in scenic Chatham, Ohio, and everything will be right in the world.

duh!

Why didn't anyone tell me I was being a moron? Cadaver Dogs was not available through the library because it just came out. Why did I think it had been out for a while?

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I found a spider on me while I was on the el today. Ever since, I've been having that creepy-itchy feeling like I'm covered in bugs. Ew.

*

What if I stopped blogging? Would I miss it? Maybe I'd write more letters. Maybe I'd write more poems.

I'm not going to stop blogging, but this is something I think about from time to time.

*

Plowing through my reading list. Love Denise Levertov even more than I thought. Love Charles Wright less. Feeling somewhat "eh" about Karen Whalley. Having trouble spending time with my library books. They're just so heavy and unbendy. Mary Oliver and Mary Kinzie are both pissing me off a little bit. (In related news, why do how-to-write-fiction books seem so much less preachy and finger pointing than how-to-write-poetry books?)

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Since moving happens in less than a month, I'm trying to eat all my frozen and canned food instead of going grocery shopping. I may be a bit of an apocalyps shopper, bc I definitely have a lot of non-perishable food around. But June is really not the time to be eating non-perishable food. I want watermelon and zucchini and sweet corn (fresh, not canned!) and plums and artichokes... You get my drift. Canned pineapple and frozen brussel sprouts will have to do. I'm being practical.

*

I get to see my momma and my pops and my seesters in less than two weeks!! I wanna go now! (Don't tell, but I'm looking forward to driving with the windows down and the radio up almost as much as I am looking forward to seeing my peeps.) I'm going home for one of my nephew's graduation parties. I just looked at the graduation announcement which reminded me I graduated 10 years ago. How and when did I get this old?

*

I've spent the last 2 hours (minus the time I just spent here) trying to decide what I was going to try to accomplish tonight. Talk about Epic Fail.

New Work...

at Anti-!

Many thanks to Steve for giving my poem a home!

It was only a matter of time...

before I talked myself into taking a weekday off. But it was/is much needed. I'm already on my second load of laundry, I cleaned the litter box and swept the kitchen floor, and there's lots more to do: grocery shopping, bill paying, apartment cleaning, etc. And hopefully some poetry work too.

I really admire/am confounded by "working" poets--and by that, I mean poets whose day jobs have nothing to do with poetry. I find that, sadly, I don't have the will to write (or read, or put together submissions) when I get home from work at 6 after a day of staring at a computer screen unthinkingly. I can't switch gears fast enough to accomplish anything in the short time between getting home and going to bed. And, since I'm one of those unfortunate people who requires 7-8 hours of sleep to be fully functional, I can't just stay up late.

So here I am, sacrificing a day's pay in order to feel in control of my life. Perhaps not the smartest, most forward thinking choice, but the one that's best for my current state of mind.

*

While we're talking about work... cornshake has some pretty wonderful things to say about being a poet in academia. What she says makes me feel really great about my career decisions so far.

I am one sleepy puppy tonight. But I did go to work today, and I think I found an apartment, too. Plus, I had coffee with Laura, one of my very favorite Chicagoans, and talked to my mama on the phone for almost an hour. All in all, I'd call today a success.

Cross your fingers for me that I get the apartment. It's very cute, very close to the blue line, and very affordable. And then, after I get the apartment, cross your fingers that I get it together and stop moving every flippin' year. This is exhausting.

My work ethic is broken

My summer job has flexible hours. Really flexible. I decide how many hours to work, when to come in, etc. The only restriction is that I have to work sometime between 9-5 and a minimum of 4 hours at a time (max 40 per week, obviously. I usually aim for 30).

I woke up today not feeling like working. And now, since it's 10 minutes to 8, and it takes me an hour to get there, I definitely won't be starting at 9. It would be a stretch to get there by ten, actually, because I haven't showered yet either.

The truth is, I'm thinking about not going at all today.

If my mother's reading this, she's shaking her head at me and saying, "But I thought you were broke."

Money is tight, but so is time! One of the things I've come to love about the academic schedule is being able to run errands when everyone else is at work. Same with appointments--haircuts, doctors, apartment viewings, etc. And I really need to start finding an apartment.

Okay, let's face it. I'm just listing excuses why I shouldn't have to go to work today. But responsible me is saying, "Get it together." I can be there by 10:30 and work a solid 6.5 hour day.

Writer me is saying, "Write a new draft, then go to work."

Starving artist/bohemian grad student me is saying, "You'll figure out a way to live without that money. Stay home and get some real work done."

Aaaaah! Is this what it's like to have multiple personalities? Because I am definitely feeling a little insane right now.

progress

I've read five of the fifty books on my list so far, and started 2 more. I also ordered all the ones I don't own from the library (except for Midnight Voices and Cadaver Dogs, which neither the Chicago public library nor I-Share has (a tragedy, btw, that Illinois has such lousy poetry collections. I expect this sort of thing from Ohio...). Anyway, I'm going to have to hold off on buying either book until I get my finances in order, so my summer reading list might be down to 48).

I'm reading all the small books first, because those are the easiest to read on the train on the way to and from work. I don't know what I'm going to do when I'm down to all the books that weigh three pounds each.

*

It's time to purge. Clothes, files, books, everything. I'm moving again soon, and, let's face it, I'm a pack rat. If I have this much junk that I never touch at 28, I don't want to think about what I'll be like at 48.

The trouble is, I don't know what to get rid of in terms of my writing. When do you toss old drafts?

*

I can't begin to explain why this is, but I've decided I want to be able to do the splits by the time I'm 30. When I was 15 and on my high school gymnastics team, I couldn't do the splits, so I don't know what kind of crazy pills I'm taking... but still, I'm going to try. Let the stretching commence.

*

I'm going to be house/dog sitting at the farm in July and am super-psyched. It will be more like a mini-residency than a house sitting gig because I'll be all alone out in the woods with nothing but time to write and read. The farm is a little too far from civilization (read: my friends and family) to see them regularly, so I really will have lots of time to work. Can't wait!

*

I guess that's all. Time to read before bed. Maybe a little Whitman. Nah...I'm feeling kinda prosey. Maybe The Noonday Demon.

and because my sister repressed all her childhood memories

because sometimes, you just want to feel like a kid again