We are halfway and the night is warm. My husband flew in this morning, made it despite a canceled flight, haggard and adorable.
I started a new notebook while I'm here, and I'm addicted to it, jotting down little thoughts, images, bits of poems. I have the tendency to want to separate, to put things into little categories. I like life in boxes, even though I hate "other-izing," I hate the idea of pigeonholing. But I don't mind shouting from the rooftop what "things" I am--poet, wife, teacher, whatnot. And siphoning those selves off--to the photo a day blog, to the duo photo project, to the poetry blog. It becomes addictive to thematically link my life; I had a dream journal, a writing notebook, and a diary-type place. Now it's all lumped together--the flex and bulge of redesigning life, I suppose. I want to keep it simple, but my tendency is to sprawl.
I love existing in words for a week. I love to glory in it. I've been introduced to some wonderful poets via coursework and readings thus far--Major Jackson, Kim Addonizio, Thomas Lux, and my instructor, Malena Morling. All I want to do is read, read, read poetry this week. My only writing is sporadic and snippet-like, and that's OK. This week is about soaking it all up, absorbing the intelligence of others, hope for my own future as a scholar and writer of poetry.
15 hours ago