I haven't got time for the pain.
So Charlie and I are both sick, except I didn't eat in a shady fast food joint. Perhaps he really does only exist in my dreams. Or maybe we're twins, separated at birth. I may be a tad taller than he is, however.
This has been one of my worst years so far, health-wise. Calling from the Atlanta airport I learned that my entire family--even my parents--was sick, so it was kind of inevitable. Instead of gatorade I helped myself to about $80 of new books from amazon. That felt good. When are they going to get here? Is that the doorbell?
My glorious and amazing MFA teaching intern Aaron M. Smith took care of advanced poetry writing class today while I stayed home and wondered if I would live to give another quickly-disregarded line break suggestion.
The Saint Monica series I'm working on is consuming me (folks who were at the Switchback reading know what this is...and heard me curse several times in prefacing, which is really out of character--I was rallying that night, I guess). Basically I'm writing about Saint Monica reborn in the contemporary Midwest. I am Catholic and thus entitled to write about saints as I please.
A few titles: "Saint Monica of the Gauze" (forthcoming in Wicked Alice--woohoo!), "Saint Monica Gets Her Man," "Saint Monica Hears Freebird for the First Time," and currently in the works, "Saint Monica Stays the Course."
Maybe I should shift my work to a saint of better immune systems for a few days.