"Something I've found
we're just skin and bones
and nothing much more..."
-The Sundays in "Skin and Bones" from Reading, Writing and Arithmetic
What a week. What a month. Best friends collapsing under breakups, participation turned into coordination and direction, exhaustion exhaustion exhaustion. So overwhelmed, pumped out, wiped. And yet, nothing "bad" nothing "hard" happening to me, personally. In love, still. Happy with work and then some, still. Estatic in the world, still. Overwhelmed in a good way, that way.
To do lists with nothing left to do are mixed in with those with one or two things left undone.
Notes taken at talks yet untranscribed haunt me in their uncompleteness.
Dirty sheets and dishes compete with natural dirt outside calling me to my knees.
The cats, oh the cats, always reminding me: all of this doesn't exist, just their breath, their bellies, their hunger for love, that can satisfy me and them in one fell swoop.
That's it. Nothing more to say for now.
Still doing Poem A Day, so that's been taking most of my writing practice energy. That and I knocked off a chunk of novel re-write for Orphano last Friday. Tons of grading to do this week, traveling again, helping friends, shh shh shh tons of naps.
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