04.25.05

Today, standing at the comb binding machine, putting together 150 booklets, I felt every sinew protesting. Not in a whiny, bitchy way, but oy vey in a you did sumpin' this weekend, dint'ya, Xat? way.

Wordstock has goosed my creativity. I've got a powerful new poem that I'm polishing (though I read it last night at the Beat and got a great response). I've got a great book on reading/writing pornotica by Susie Bright. I'm eager to try the exercises, though I might have to take a miss on the videotaping yourself having an orgasm one. Not from shyness, but from lack of recording equipment. Fortunately the exercise works whether one is alone or with accompaniment. Wouldn't that be something to have floating around?

Yeah. I'm looking forward to some wonderful stuff. I hope.

Mater's getting some outpatient surgery done on Wednesday. I'm chauffeuring. She, of course, has turned it into some ginormous event and has worked herself into a frenzy. Fueled by a slight case of the sniffles, she went running off to her doctor for reassurance. She said that she'd hate to choke when she was intubated...I treated her frenzy with all the importance that it deserved. That is; I listened to her while she doom'd and gloom'd, then went on my way. I do care, and I'm concerned about her well-being, but her need for drama and attention wear me out.

Ye gods and little fishies. I hope I'm not as bad as she is.

Tomorrow I'm looking forward to finally getting off my ass and going to the Alberta Pub poetry reading. I've heard a lot of good things about it, and I need to get myself out to more venues.

Ah, but this evening, oh, this evening...I'm going to be as active as a three-toed sloth on barbituates.

Mmmmmmmmm.

Go. Be fabulous.

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