To say I am exhausted would be just that: I'm exhausted. It's not the worst thing in the world, but it's pretty darn uncomfortable! No giggling happens, and people ask me if I'm feeling okay. Those who are informed instead say, "It's a marathon!" I think the advice, "Stay hydrated" always applies, especially this morning.
Was quiet ecstatic yesterday to finish a poem early--before leaving work to go for Turkish meze with JB and his grandfather. I've never finished a poem before 12:00am! And somehow, I also accidentally drafted notes/skeleton for today's poem--as in: I started to write one poem, then stopped and wrote the poem that ended up being yesterday's poem. So today I get to finish what I started.
Tonight is PSA's 103rd annual award ceremony with a likely awesome lecture from Robert Bly! I wish I could come dressed as a dragon, or just a cloud of smoke. Because I was a finalist for the Medwick award this year, I get to attend the champagne reception and JB is my +1! And he'll be wearing new clothes (sportsjacket, shirt, lovely pants, socks, tie). I hope I can be presentable beside him!
Notes for yesterday's poem:
- - Inspired by a story/line from a story: "The Smallest Woman in the World" by Clarice Lispector (translated by Elizabeth Bishop).
- - Realized I didn't know what orphanages really looked like, so I did some Googling. Resulted in my discovery of Janusz Korczak.
- - Sat with: Donald Revell's A Thief of Strings again--somehow found a poem in it that oddly resembled more LBB than Revell.
Here is where I whine that I can't believe it's only day 5--and I have 25 more poems/days to go. How do people do this! I am glad to be doing this. I'm exhausted and my Friday isn't until Saturday. But there is no Friday in the 30/30 game.