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.

Uvula and a mystery poem

The uvula is a body part I don't want to think about. It's supposed to just kinda be there, you know? Unfortunately, whatever little virus I have has decided to attack it. My uvula, that is. We've all heard of tonsilitis, right? Well, uvulitis is pretty much the same thing, and I think I've got it. Something tells me I should go to a doctor. But I'd rather not. Instead...strawberry ice cream for breakfast, baby!

On the upside, I can breathe through my nose again today.

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No plans for the weekend. And I'm contemplating being really anti-social on new years eve, too. I don't know if even I am recluse enough for that, though.

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Yesterday, I was going through my word files, getting ready for my LWS (little winter submission), and I found a draft I don't remember writing. And when I read it, I didn't remember what it was about. And it was good. I mean, it needs work, but there were some really cool lines in there, and I don't have any recollection of writing them. That's never happened to me before. Now...how to revise a poem like this? Since I don't remember the impetus to write it to begin with, I could go in any direction. But I'm stumped.

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Starting to worry about money again. I don't do very well with budgets when I don't have the money in my hands. When I was a waitress, I would come home and divide out my tips: 60% for bills, 20% for food, gas, etc., 10% savings, 10% fun. Even if I only came home with $10, I would split it up. And I always had enough...except when I did my taxes and found out I would have to pay instead of getting a return. Anyhow, these days, with direct deposit and debit cards and online bill payers, I am not so careful. Maybe I need to cancel my direct deposit and start hiding my money under the bed.

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Is it bad that I'm already getting anxious about my PhD apps? I've been done with them for a week and I'm already dying to know the results. Oy.

Home Sweet Home

What I've brought back from Arizona:

5 new poems

100+ pictures

1 nasty sinus infection

Maggie says I have to write ten more pages by Monday because I didn't write enough while we were gone. I was really looking forward to the deadline-induced frenzy, but now that I can't breathe and my head feels like a balloon, I think it's going to be a little more difficult than I'd hoped.

Despite my current whiny-ness, my trip was amazing, and hopefully tomorrow I will feel better and have enough time to give you a play-by-play. In the meantime, here's a picture about perspective.