I should've known by the wonderful rumbling of thunder this morning and the raindrops battering the windowsill that it would be a Friday best spent curled up in a metal cage, lounging on artificial fleece. Everything was in place for a day of getting things done, meeting with one of my Barn Owl Review co-editors to work on our nonprofit paperwork, having an energizing workout at the gym, and so on. But then Gabi came downstairs ghost-faced and covered in hives. You'd think that after the past two weeks I'd be done with sick kiddos, but apparently not.
So here I am at home with 5 year old kid and 3 month old pooch, those raindrops still pitterpatting, seriously contemplating digging out some sweatpants and curling up on the couch, but knowing better. There are theses to read, grocery lists to write, trips to the dog tee tee area in the backyard, kicking a mini soccer ball around in flipflops on soggy grass. Gabi is feeling much better--watching The Lion King (again) in her pajamas. There's a nice breeze despite the humidity.
No Friday confessions to speak of, except for the fact that I am obsessed with my newest poem, "Saint Monica Takes Communion Twice," the name thanks to Jessica. It's another prose poem and it's 645 words, which is pretty damn long for a prose poem. If only all poems worked this way:
Friend gives you a title.
You write the poem within 24 hours of receiving the title.
You love the poem.
Your oldest child breaks out in hives and you keep taking peeks at the poem.
I'm glad this series is moving along, but a book-length manuscript seems so far away right now. Maybe it would seem closer if I were wearing sweatpants...