Or so my 4.5 year old daughter informed me this morning in the car. I hate clowns, but I thought this was really amusing.
Then she proceeded to tell me about how it's naughty to call 911 if there's not good reason, but that it's okay to pretend your hand is a phone and call 911 on it. She may have inherited the poetry gene.
The other big piece of news in my office--other than yesterday's java baptism of laptop--is that I have a new desk chair, a good one, apparently. I think this may help my productivity, but I need to get used to it. The photo doesn't do justice to the chair's color: SALSA. Everyone thought I was nuts ordering a bright red chair, but I love it.
I twisted my wrist the other day wrangling Ray in the middle of the night. It's my annotation hand. Today should be really interesting.
Holy crap, do I need to send poems out, or what? My friend Jay and I counted like fifteen or so pages of new stuff that isn't under consideration anywhere. I may need to check out some of those mags that accept subs year round, though summer submissions seem really slow to me. I signed up for Duotrope but I don't like how you just record one poem in there at a time. I'm a packet kind of gal. Back to the old standby for me.
Yesterday I did my last two thesis defenses of the semester. I am a reader on a ton of committees next year, but I'm only directing a couple. I'm really excited about the ones I am directing. The defenses ended up being fun (here's testimony if you don't believe me), so don't worry, Amy and Sara.
Off to (carefully) drink coffee and start commenting. How many more weeks in this semester? Too many?
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