got no time, got no mind for the line in my life

I guess now is as good a time as any to re-enter the world of blogging. It’s just past 8 on a Sunday evening. There’s a fire in the fireplace. The TV is off. There’s a drink within arm’s reach. And the kids are in bed. The kids? No, we haven’t missed that much time. I’ve been nannying for past couple days. And my, how amazing it is that real-life children provide such wonderful, intangible birth control. I am exhausted. At 8pm. On a Sunday. With a fire. And a drink. And the noise turned off.  And so it goes.

Life has been a whirlwind these past few months. Please generously allow me that trite cliche, and also that bit of redundancy. My writer’s mind seems to be hibernating behind new neural pathways full of medical editorial jargon and illustrations of brains. I have been working. I have been paying my bills. I have also avoided grocery shopping, and the heat stays set at a brisk 65*F. I’m not complaining; this is my life. I lamented aloud the other day about the fact that I have written but a handful of poems since submitting my thesis and final portfolio 7 months ago. I find a bit of peace, however, in the joy of knowing that I have poems in my mind, if not on the page. I’ve decided that the day my internal voice ceases to poeticize the world around me will be a day worth mourning. And until then, I’ll let my poetic self run the ticker tape around the bottom of my brain until my pen meets paper.

So that’s it, I suppose. I could write more but that would be too indulgent after such a long absence. My voice hurts.

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