Saturday morning

It's days like this that I miss my old apartment in Cuyahoga Falls the most. Spending one of the first warm Saturday mornings of the year on the porch with a cup of coffee and a book (I'll leave the cigarettes in the past, thank-you-very-much) would be truly ideal. Having Michael, my nephew, come out to distract me every now and then, but then going to work on his senior design project in the garage with ESPN on in the background would be really nice too. Alas, I'm here in Chicago where my porch is not big enough for a table, and besides, there's this crew working on the building (and has been every nice day since I moved in) that make all kinds of noise and debris, thus making it impossible to spend any time on my tiny balcony.

This is why I have plans to go to my friend Shelly's house a little later on--Shelly has a deck. Also, Shelly thinks that if we work on our papers in the same place at the same time, I'll be able to help her focus. But Shelly lives in Bronzville, which will take me an hour on the el to get to, and it is supposed to rain. I might just bail on Shelly. If I had a car, I'd so be there. But the commute...

Maybe to Bar on Buena. They probably will open the windows (which are the size of garage doors) today. That would be almost like sitting outside.

Or maybe I'll just stay here, where all my books and papers are, where I have a freezer full of food I've already paid for, where I have instant coffee and my favorite mug. The sliding glass door is already open, the birds are chirping, I'm drinking coffee...I guess there's nothing wrong with where I am.

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Today I'll be focusing on my paper for Proseminar--the Political Economy course. The one that really pissed me off at the beginning of the semester. I mean, I'm getting a PhD in English, writing a creative dissertation, and I'm forced to study the Political Economy? What the...? But then I started getting into some of it. Rather, I started getting riled up about the way theorists are describing working class people, and I found my way into the class. So now, I'm trying--emphasis on trying--to write a paper that deals with working class identification / values / discourse as they relate to (or contradict) working class theory. I don't really know if I have the theory chops for this project, but I'm going to give it a shot. And the strange thing is, I'm way, WAY more excited about writing this paper than I am about writing the paper for my contemporary poetry course. So hopefully today is a good, productive, intellectually satisfying day. Maybe I'll learn something.

Snowbound

It's an icky, slushy mess out there, and John's flight got canceled, so he's stuck until tomorrow. I think we'll brave the snow for Fornello for dinner tonight...maybe.

P.S. Have I told you lately how much I hate public transportation?
P.P.S. I would rather use public transportation than drive in this sh*t, though. So I guess I should just shut up.

Doppelgangers

Do you ever see a stranger on the bus, or in line at the grocery store, or on the barstool next to yours, and think it's someone you know? Do you ever see lots of these strangers who all look disturbingly like the same person?

Today, I thought I saw Zachary Schomburg at least six times. But he does not live in Chicago, so I must be losing my marbles. Unless he's visiting Chicago today, in which case, I should have said hi.

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On another note entirely...why can't the CTA trip planner tell me where exactly my transfer bus stop is? I walked around 2 different blocks in a kinda sketchy neighborhood trying to find the right sign, only to eventually find it in the exact opposite direction it looked like on the website. City living--blech.

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Oh, and the reading was good. Never read anything by James Shea before, and he was impressive. And Jason Bredle is a really nice guy (which is not an insult to his poetry (you know, like when you set your friend up on a blind date and say the guy is "nice" because he isn't cute) because I already knew I was a fan, so it goes without saying). I should probably delete that whole parenthetical, but I'm not going to. Someone will understand.

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I'm on page 19. Pages 10-19 are extremely rough. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.

Odd, I know...

but this post actually has something to do with poetry!

I have new work up at keep going, a super-sweet on-line mag. Many, many thanks to the editors.


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In other news, the apartment search might be over. I applied for a cute little studio in Buena Park today. That neighborhood was not on my list, but it looked safe, and the apartmentpeople swore it was just like Lakeview. I wish I could post pictures, but my new phone and I are having issues with email.

Let me tell you, all my fears about living in the city & relying on public transportation are completely valid!!! I think I've got twice as much gray hair as I did yesterday, and my nerves are shot. When I move, I'm going to learn the route from my front door to UIC and then I'm going to be a recluse for the rest of the time. Here's just one example of my ineptness: It took me 45 minutes to get from Union Station to the Wells/Washington el stop. They're four blocks apart. Note to self: don't ask coffee girl at Union Station for directions. She don't know any more than you do.