Move it or _______ it.

So far this has been the summer wherein I repeatedly lose--or almost lose--various things (keys, phone every five minutes, important paperwork, books, outdoor cat) and scare the shit out of myself, and then find the various things again, and it's like Christmas morning. I can speculate that this is the universe teaching me:

1). To be more careful with where I throw things.

2). To be more appreciative of the things I toss on my counter.

3). To be more organized.

4). To think a little more about what it means to lose something.

Anyway, it's rather disconcerting. Normally I'm not a person who freaks out about her keys all of the time, etc.

Perhaps all of this losing/finding is to blame for the utter poem drought around here, since April. I've written one poem since 5/1. It was just fine, too. Perhaps this is due to having the kids home from school, and doing a lot of reading other people's poems. It makes the most sense for me to consider May and June to be poem hiatus months (officially, not just by default) this year, and to pick up like a bat out of hell on 7/1. Or thereabouts.

In not-lost news, I am getting some exciting nominations for The Saint Monica Library Project. And holy cats, I am selling a lot of books, too. I need to chill and stop checking the Amazon sales rank so obsessively, but I'm just so excited. If only I could translate that energy into new poems, I'd be all set.

Right now I am officially "out of the office" until August, with the exception of my work at the Press. We celebrated on Sunday by going to the beach without the kids, and I spent a lot of time just staring at the sky. Then a monster thunderstorm rolled into town, but I don't think I caused it with all my cloud-gazing. Or maybe I did. You never know.