A Writer's Notebook, Day One-Thousand-Five-Hundred-And-Eleven

I am feeling quite tired at the moment.  Melissa and I went out earlier this evening to an event, a jazz performance and dinner.  It was a lovely event, but a friend of ours who was there kept making certain that my cocktail glass was full.  While I was not drunk, I was certainly buzzed, and when we arrived home, I just found myself dragging as a result.  For the first time in a long while, I really didn't feel like doing my writing, in particular poetry.  I think that the prose didn't bother me as much in part because I do that first, and in part because what I am working on is already in progress, providing a pretty clear idea of what to do next.  By contrast, I start each poem with a blank document and usually do not have a set idea of what to write about.  There are times, of course, when I come to the page with an idea already in mind for a new poem, but that is not the norm for me.  In general, I don't find this process all that challenging.  There are certainly times when it takes a bit longer to get going, but even when that happens, it usually only requires a few moments of sitting and thinking before I am off.  Tonight I was tired and didn't feel much like doing the work.  I had enjoyed my evening and just wanted to be able to relax and get ready for bed.  I still, of course, did the work, and by the end, the feeling had shifted, as it generally does, once I got into it.

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