A slight case of overbombing.

I was one of those girls who really liked horses. Shocking, I know. Anyway, I don't ride horses now because there's no time. I'll probably have to teach my kids eventually. But lately I've been thinking back to when I rode horses, and they were other people's horses, because we lived in the city and my mom never agreed that we could keep a horse in the garage behind her 1978 Chevette.

Some semesters are like the sad ponies that walk around in a circle under a tent. Other semesters are like sad horses that wish they were walking around in a circle under a tent. This semester, however, is like a horse that gets spooked by a dragonfly and proceeds to gallop into another county.

So what's there to do? Just hang on, I guess. And that's what I'm doing. Because it's week ten here, and soon it'll be week eleven. I'll be in Jackson, Mississippi in week eleven, reading at Millsaps College with Erika Meitner. I am a little ashamed to say that the only time I've been to "the south" was for AWP Atlanta. Thankfully Alison Pelegrin is helping me out with what to pack, because I have no idea what the weather will be like. I'm so happy to be able to take my poems somewhere they've never gone before (at least not out of my mouth).

The aforementioned runaway Appaloosa of a semester is to blame for my lack of new poems. Some people beat themselves up about not going to the gym. I beat myself up for a total lack of creative activity! I haven't even been taking decent pictures lately. I was glad to snap the above, which is my contribution to the season.

Week ten started out with good news for somebody who really deserves it, not to mention the magnificent Browns win last night. At least a runaway semester eventually makes its way to a lake and has to stop, at least for a few minutes. I'm looking forward to making up all of the creativeness that I'm keeping in jars for the time being.

I hope those jars are watertight.

Fallstuff.

Oh, fall. You are so damn funny. I found all of those leaves you left out. I hope you don't mind that I blew them onto the devil strip. I'm sure you'll make more.

Do they say that no two leaves are alike, or is that just for snowflakes? I suppose no two falls are alike, either. If I had to name this fall I'd call it The Runaway Fall. Because here we are, going into week fucking nine, and I'm just like, "huh?" The Forgotten Fall. The Fallen Fall. The Fall O' the Whoops it's Fall. The Unfall.

I have spent almost all of my time on The Monkey and the Wrench.

New poems? No.

Will this stop soon? I really hope so. I feel all dirty when I don't write poems. And not in a good way.

This weekend has been designated for lazy. Let's see how it turns out.

PS: Monkeys and wrenches not included.

Runaway horizon eats everything in sight.

I wish I could take better pictures of the night. But it's uncooperative. Sometimes I feel like all I ever do is take pictures of the night, or try to take pictures of the night.

A few very busy weeks. Falling behind on: everything.

I've realized how much I need at least one day per week for work only, without meetings, appointments, and such.

In less cranky news:

a) My head is tingling from the latte I am drinking. That is a really good sign.

b) My co-editor John has posted a sneak peek of our new book over here. People are pre-ordering it on Amazon, and everything.

c) My Yurt Master poem was up a while back.

d) I have some things to say about poetry. But just not now, or here.