Would That I Might

I received a request tonight to submit a poem to an anthology of Florida poets.  It has been a while since I had a request of this sort and it is always rather flattering and exciting, though I now have the difficulty of trying to decide on what poem I want to send them.  I have a few in mind already, some of which are a bit older but which I still really adore.  Part of the issue for me is that I write a lot and so I have a tong of work to choose from.  I know that I want to send something special for this, and possibly something that might resonate as a bit Floridian, which should not be too difficult, really, as I do have a fair number of poems that I think fit that description.  Granted, many of them are about lizards, but I do not think that is a bad thing.

I wanted to learn those things Maybe I could have or still could, if I made the effort but I have only thought about it, have not done more than the most casual consideration, but the desire sits there, does not fade or vanish. Still, I do not act, I do nothing but think about it more, wonder about what it would be, what it would mean, what I could do with that knowledge, which I cannot know in any real sense until I learn and know what is possible and have a capability of my own. Maybe it is  just a thing I wish to dream about? I do not think so. I think it is something else. I am inclined to call it fear but why would I be afraid? Maybe, I think it will not go well, that I will fail to understand what is required. I can imagine that as a reason, but I wish there were another that felt plausible.

I am getting ready to do an interview for the podcast that I am developing.  Its been a while since I interviewed anyone, but I have a good sense of what I am hoping to get from the conversation and it is with a person that I know well enough that I think I will be comfortable.  The interview is with Lenny DellaRocca, who is one of the people behind the South Florida Poetry Journal (SoFloPoJo, as they call it), and, more recently, is the editor of a sort of sub-journal focused on a poetic form that he created.  He is also, as you might guess, a poet as well, though I expect the interview to focus more on the editorial side of things.  I have a clear sense of where I want this to aim, but I am still clarifying how to communicate that right at the moment.  At the same time, I also know well enough to leave things a bit open, to allow for spontaneity and surprise to guide me in new directions if something comes up.  I feel pretty well prepared, but I am sure that my producers are going to

I do not want what is possible, I want what is right That is the problem because there are wrongs in the way that cannot be removed without leaving some mark. It won't be as it would have been, as I want it to be, as I believe it should be, as it was supposed to be from the start. I am not good at adjusting, do not want to, do not think it is alright to need to, not in this case.  Not when so much was done to cause this harm. It is not good at all.  I must change, must accept how things are. If only that did not feel terrible to me, as if it is giving them all permission, as if it is saying it is alright for this to be the outcome. I want things to be well  and they cannot be if I feel the unsafety of one who must pretend all that harms them is fine so the perpetrators don't feel bad.

I mentioned before that I have a potential opportunity to get my novel published.  Right now, it is very tentative and nothing that I am putting too much faith in, though I am attempting to remain optimistically hopeful at the same time.  The truth is, it is just a chance to pitch the book to someone, albeit with a bit of meaningful support behind me; still, I know that this type of thing is always long shot.  The truth is, though, what really matters in this situation is that I have that support in the first place.  That remains true even if this particular opportunity does not come through.

Misjudgement That one knows nothing of what is to be done, only acts on the orders of those who have no right to present their demands. It is all backwards, is all confusion and missteps. The secrets were in hand. There was danger, a chance of revelations. It was all wrong, though. Nothing should be that way. It was precisely what it must not be. Will it be noted or changed? I have little hope of that any longer. The shape of things is already wrought.

My day began when my mother called early this morning in a panic after having received a phone call about someone trying to get in her house to do some work.  She is still in New York right now, but I was in her house last week and there was obviously something wrong with the air conditioner.  I had arranged for it to be fixed, and the appointment was arranged for Tuesday morning, but somehow they wound up coming today instead.  Fortunately, I was available in the morning, but I had to rush out when I was still barely awake to be there.  I had intentionally chosen to make the appointment for Tuesday because I knew today was already a rather busy day, and I wanted to be able to get a bit more rest this morning.  I suppose it worked out fine, to be honest, as I have another busy day tomorrow and it would have actually been a bit of a tighter schedule, considering how long it took for the work to get done.  In any event, it is done now, so that is one less thing to worry about.

There is always a path to follow, but you must begin first if you wish to find it or that is what is true tonight, not always.  There are times, have been times, will be again, when it is clear as if it were marked. it is waiting.  Not tonight. It is not so simple this time, but that is all hesitancy and doubt. There is still enough and it is ready, even when it is hidden it remains. Beginning is the needed step. Beyond that, it becomes obvious again.

I have a poet that I know I am going to want to discuss in a video at some point, but it is a bit complicated, as the reason that I want to bring it up is more to address some larger questions.  The poet I am discussing is Gabriele D'Annunzio, who was a very talented writer, but also a terrible human being and one the progenitors of the fascist ideology in Italy.  This was a man who bragged about the multiple rapes he committed against female servants and poor women, as well as a political figure seminal to the development of fascist ideologies in Italy after World War I.  At the same time, as I have said, he is also considered to be a great poet.  This is the reason that it feels important and appropriate for me to bring him up and discuss his work as part of discussing poetry.  Often, I feel as if many people think there is something inherent to poetry or poets that is moral, or that those whose ideologies are so abhorrent are not really capable of crafting good poetry.  I have h

I gave in again I regretted it even before it happened. I know that is strange, maybe it is good and a sign that it will change, that this is not the beginning of my regression but a shift,  a chance to reaffirm. That is a lie, of course, or not a lie, really, but it will not be that. I do not know what will come but I should not pretend this is anything good. That is just my ego making excuses. I should forgive it for offering protection, but I don't need protection, not that sort, anyhow. I need to face the truth and make the choice to do better  and not make excuses.

I had a bit of drama today surrounding Melissa's birthday cake.  It turned out alright, I think, though it was all a bit tense and a little bit frustrating.  I ordered a custom cake from a bakery and was told that I could pick it up today at around noon, but when I arrived at the bakery, I was told it would not be ready for several hours.  The proprietor of the shop wanted to make things right and wound up offering to deliver the cake so that I wouldn't have to drive back over to get it.  A few hours later he arrived and apologized again for the mix-up, but apparently he had not been given the order at all (despite my having paid for it and been given a receipt).  I was very appreciative, of course, that he did come through in the end, but then he opened the box and the cake had slid a bit so that the layers were no longer aligned properly.  He told me to rush it into the fridge and apologized, offering a discount if I order from him again.  After a few hours in the fridge, it

It went fast but not until the speed  did not matter as it was too late. It would have been good to get it done that fast but not when it was already after so much time was wasted. It was still better, yes, was still not as long or late, but it was too late by the time it started, the effort was only mitigation.

Tomorrow (technically, now, actually) is Melissa's birthday.  I am planning to take the day off so we can celebrate together, though I will still do my writing in the evening.  We do not have a lot planned, but I did a number of things to try and prepare for it.  I do wish that I had done more, but I think Melissa will appreciate the things I have done.  Maybe I am just telling myself this so I don't feel like I am going to disappoint her.  I did, at least, make certain that there will be a cake.

It was difficult tonight I was tired and already annoyed, had worn down my resources. It is not an excuse.  I know that I need to be better, that it is not alright, but it takes an effort, at least right now. I was not unaware, even when it happened, I was able to notice it, to think about doing better. I tried and failed, but it is a good thing to even make the effort, to notice it is needed.

I am working on a list of poets whose work I want to read and discuss on my youtube channel.  There are a few names that have come to mind already, Wanda Coleman and Gabrielle Calvocoressi both came to mind quite easily.  Gregory Pardlo was suggested, as well, and I think that might be a good call.  I would like to think of a few more names, especially ones that are not so contemporary.  I have a few books that I am going to look through and think about.  I am hoping that I can find a way to make some good stuff discussing the poems on a variety of levels and connecting the ideas to things in the world.  My goal is to help make a connection that shows why the poems are relevant and meaningful, how they are speaking and teaching about important matters for our lives in the world today.

I intended to take action today but I did none of it and it is getting to be too late. I worry that I waited too long, that nothing can go well now. I want to make it right, if there is time for that. I do not believe there is, am feeling the inertia of my own failings, they weigh me down. Will I succumb and do nothing again? I have to find a bit of hope and believe it is possible if I take action. Maybe I will. I hope I have time.

I have an opportunity coming up for my work to be presented to someone in the industry who could definitely help launch my career.  It is very exciting, but I had thought, initially, that the goal was going to be to present a poetry manuscript, and now it seems that the better choice is going to be fiction.  In some ways this is positive.  I have a novel that I believe is ready to go, and I've had a lot of positive feedback on it, including from publishing professionals and other writers, while I don't have a full length poetry manuscript ready to go.  Even so, I do worry.  I know that the novel I have is a bit unusual, even strange, and it is certainly not for everyone, and. in spite of the positive feedback, I do have doubts about it, as is natural.  Of course, I would probably have a lot of the same apprehensions if I were sending her poetry.

The cat has been dead more years than he lived but I do not feel any better since he is gone. I do not think time is helping, do not know what could. Some will think it is a cat and not understand. What can I do to explain it? I do not know or think I should, or should need to. It is the way it is. I do not have reasons, or none that matter. I can offer them but it will not help, will convince some, I am certain, it is only an illusion, that my feelings do not reflect the truth. I do not care about that. What do I care about, anyhow? I miss him and it cannot change. What does it matter that he was only a cat? Why do I even worry? Why is that the thing this poem became about?

There is some work that has to be done at the house which will make my office inaccessible for at least a few days, possibly a little longer.  It should not be all that big of a problem for me, just a mild inconvenience, but I am trying to make certain that I am prepared.  I want to make sure I finish up any pressing work that would best be done on the computer, as well as making certain that I have access to anything else I might want or need.  It is only going to be a few days, so it shouldn't be that big a deal.  I suppose it is just an excuse for me to worry about something fairly insignificant for a change.

You tell me you do not want to go there even though the information you received makes it seem like a good place, one we might enjoy.  But you will not go there now, because of the source for the information. Not that you do not trust them, but as a matter of principle, I suppose. Do not ask me to explain what principle it is. I am not going to concern myself with understanding more than what is already clear.

Tomorrow is going to be another busy day.  I'm getting up early so that I can have a blood draw in the morning, which is always a bit stressful for me, as my veins tend to give the phlebotomists a hard to time.  I need to drink a lot of water as that can help, but to do that I have to get up extra early; I have one medicine that I need to take first thing when I wake up and I am not supposed to drink anything for at least an hour afterwards, so I need to get up extra early.  In addition, I am going to have someone coming by to do some work here at the house, a meeting, and then, in the afternoon there is a moving truck arriving at my brother's house with stuff from my New York.  Of course, my brother isn't here right now, so I am the one who is going to have to deal with that as well.  I actually still need to call him to discuss what I am having them do with the stuff.  In any event, it is going to be a busy day and I should try to get some rest so I am ready for it.

Another Promise You will tell me it is not your fault, that you did not choose for things to be this way, that at the time it was your intention, that you did not have control over things, the circumstances have changed, that it is not the same, that I cannot expect things to be that way any longer. It is impossible, now and that is how things are. I cannot accept that, not again. You obliged yourself. Prove that your word has meaning or will you admit, at last, that you have done me harm. The very least you could do is accept my pain as legitimate, but you will only tell me it is not your fault.

I am doing a lot of research into anti-Semitism lately, and it can be quite distressing.  Some of it is very strange, and I keep discovering that many ideas one would think died out centuries ago still have some purchase, though it could be that many times it is no longer a literal belief but a metaphor, perhaps, not that this helps to make it much better.  It is fascinating, in some sense, but I have to be careful and not go too deep all at once, or it just gets to be too much.  It is important to me, though, and I think valuable work, as well.  I do wish I felt that I had a clearer sense of the scope of what I am doing, especially now that I have been working on it for so long, but there always seems to be more that would be valuable to explore.

I am trying to be careful to not waste, to wait and apply my wisdom to choosing.  I know I need to do this. If I do not, it will be no good, it will be gone too soon and I will be stuck. I need to make it last. I wish it were not that way, but that is the situation. I have tried changing it but it has not happened. The limitations remain and I am within them. I do as best I can, but I am worried there will be a problem rather soon.

I have been convinced that I should start doing some on camera videos for my YouTube channel.  So far, the videos have all featured me reading one of my poems with a sort of video collage playing, and that is going to continue, bit I am also going to start doing videos sharing work that I love by other poets.  I think I want to make it more than just me reading the poems, with a bit of a discussion about the writer, and some further analysis and discussion of the poem itself.  I am still figuring it out, but it I am kind of excited and hopeful, even though I really have no idea what I am doing when it comes to video.

The need is growing and I want to meet it, want to be capable of caring for myself, of doing what is required, but I know it is not simple. I cannot do it alone. That is not a possibility. The world demands I work with it, I be part of it. I would be more willing if I trusted  it would turn out well, but I worry about other people's involvement.

Melissa and I had a rather busy day today.  We had someone come by early this morning to discuss certain work that has to be done to fix a few things around the house.  It is good to feel that we are beginning to get a handle on some of this, at least, though there is still a huge amount to deal with.  After he left, Melissa and I headed out to go to lunch with a relative visiting from out of town. which was pleasant, but it was a bit of a drive.  On the way back we had to stop and run a few errands, and when we got home we had another appointment about the house.  After all that, we ran out to the grocery store to pick up something for dinner.  Tomorrow is another early morning for me, so I am glad to be finishing up my work on the early side.

The shape is coming, and the rest, too I think the shape will dictate a lot of it, will offer a guidance.  I do not want to be overt, or too drastic.  I do not want to control it. I want things to happen.  That is impossible, I know it is not that way at all.  It is necessary for it to be done.  It is not a thing that exists without an action to cause it, without creation, but the feeling of it being there already, that is not always impossible.  It can feel as if there is something beyond what is done. It may only be an illusion or an attitude, a way to think of it that must be instantiated, must be chosen and made into a truth through belief. I do not know if that is accurate or overstated. I do not even know if it is real in any event, even real in the way I am discussing, as an experience that has nothing beyond it. I am certain it can be experienced,  which is, I suppose, the thing that matters to me.

I think that I am starting to get a grasp on how to put together the poetry manuscript.  I have a number of poems that I think will be the core of the book, and I think I am going to begin by just trying to get those organized in some way.  I think that doing that will help me to understand the concept. or perhaps it is better to call it a principle for organizing the work.  It feels like that is the best approach for me at the moment.  A part of me feels like I should get more work together first, but I realize that it will be easier to start playing around with the work if there is less at first, and it is through that play that I expect to really "discover" the book.  Once I have that core, I think it will be a lot easier to recognize what is still needed and where it will fit.  

It will nor be right but what does it matter? So much else is wrong that is more important. This is not enough, would not help the rest. However it went things would still be bad. Still, you should know what it communicates to me about what matters, or, rather, who does.

I have been feeling quite anxious and overwhelmed.  This is probably a natural response to a lot of the things that have been going on in my life, but it is not a helpful one in many ways.  I have a great many things that I need to be able to focus on, and I am finding it difficult to engage with a lot of it.  A lot of it has to do with letting go of the way I wanted things to be.  I recognize that circumstances have changed, now, and I have to learn to adapt to that, to let things evolve and change.  I know that would be the healthier choice, but I am still stuck in my old expectations and desires.

It Is All Aftermath What can be done to make it better? I do not even know what better would mean, not any longer. It is not enough, maybe? Better is too low a bar from where we have sank. I do not want just that. But what is enough? There is a limit. Some things will not be. the impossible is a factor. Things cannot be made right, not for me, not if you ask  what things being right would mean. Anything less seems too little, though. I do not have answers.  I have not begun to ask the questions.  I am still here assessing what is within me, what I know and thing and feel. I do not want to be trapped with the wrong outcomes, but the right ones do not seem realistic.

I think that I want to work on getting more of my short stories out into the world.  In truth, I know that a lot of the stories I write are strange, and I do worry about them.  A part of that worry is that I don't really think I understand how to write fiction in some sense.  That is, to be honest, both good and bad to me.  I don't want to write traditional stories, and the stuff I know how to create is not in that mold, but that also means it is difficult to assess it for me.  I think that I may just need a bit of guidance, or, perhaps, just encouragement.  I do think it is important for me to start getting more feedback on it, and for that to happen, I need to share the stories I have written with more people.

I think there is a curse that you placed upon me and you will deny it, will not even listen to what I am speaking of. You will call it silly that I think this, but I felt it happen. I wanted to avoid it, wanted to be free of that energy, but you did not allow it. You lied to me, forced it upon me. I took it in before I knew, and I cannot be free now. That is what you did. You will tell me I am being silly, but I feel it. I feel the curse. If you want to prove it is not the truth, change all the wrongs that have followed since that day.

 I have become quite good at focusing on my writing and keeping myself on track with it, but I have to admit that many other responsibilities in my life have not been getting the same degree of attention or dedication, and I need to find a way to get on top of that.  There are ways in which I have begun to take action in some of this, but a lot of it feels quite overwhelming at the moment and even the simplest tasks can feel daunting and impossible.  I'm dealing with it as best I can, but I recognize that I have been struggling in some ways.  At the same time, I think that this is the first time I am really able to even recognize the truth of this and admit it to myself, so I take that as a positive sign.  I have to remember that I was not always this committed to my work, so I can develop good habits and make them stick, it is just a matter of making the choice and motivating myself to stick with it.

Things are out of order tonight but I am fine with that, I suppose, though it is strange and I crave the return of my usual ways. It is not bad. It could be. Some nights if this happened I would be too upset, but somehow I am alright, have chosen to be calm, I think.  How strange to know it is my choice, to admit that, to accept that I am the one who makes it so. I have been one way for so long I did not recognize my own part in things.

I often wonder about the poetry that I am writing, especially because it has changed a great deal over the past several years, and continues to shift and evolve.  This is, of course, natural, and the more that I write, the more likely it is that I will find my work changing, I think.  I am always trying to experiment and discover, or at least that is what I am doing when I am at my best, or when I am at my most focused and motivated.  I try to find that state when I am writing, but I write a lot, and no one can be on 100% of the time, anyhow.  That is probably for the best, anyway.  I know that if I look at the poems I am writing now and compare them to work from even just a year ago, it is very different, and I think that is mostly a very positive thing, and I think that the uncertainty I sometimes feel about these new directions might actually be a positive sign, at least in that demonstrates a willingness to take creative risks in my poems.

An Expectation Remains I was told this was the way, that it was enough, the dedication, the continuity, the consistent nature of all that was done. It did not require more than doing it all. That was the message. I listened and believed. It needs to be true. That is the problem, now. It is too late to learn it was all mistaken, that it is not that way at all. There is a loss that must be accounted for, there are years of effort. Is it all wasted? It is not alright for that to be the truth, but I still need to know.

I have been spending some time looking through poems on my computer, attempting to think about the concept for my new manuscript.  I think that I am starting to have some idea of what my approach will be, at least, though not the exact nature of the book.  It is, as I have said before, a fairly intuitive process for me, and I think that I am getting closer to knowing the general energy I want for the book, at least.  I think that a book of poetry is sort of like an album, where each element is separate, but there is still a central aesthetic and vibe. That is what I am really trying to get into at the moment.  I do have a sort sense about it, I think, though I can't articulate it yet, and I am afraid it is too delicate for me to even try; sometimes, at this stage, an attempt to get more clarity can, instead, just crush whatever was beginning to emerge and take form.

A Desire I do not know if that would be fine or if it would be upsetting, but it is still a want I have and I think of fulfilling it. It should not scare me to mention it, to discuss the possibility.  It should be fine. I am hesitant, though. I do not know how to even raise the subject without it feeling awkward. There must be a way, though. It would be better if I did than to do something in secret.

I am quite tired tonight, though I have to admit it is still relatively early for me, at least as far as finishing up with my work.  That does not, of course, change the reality of my being tired, is, if anything, a positive.  I find it hard, sometimes, to get through my writing when I am feeling this way, and that leads to me being up far later than is, really, either necessary or good.  I think the real key is just getting started.  It can be difficult for me to focus when I am feeling tired, but if I sit down at the computer with the work in front of me, usually that is enough to get me going.  It is just a matter of getting myself to do it.

It was not enough All that was done, the time given, the dedication to it. That was the reason, that was what we gave, but it is not enough, is it?  There is always more, always an obligation, and never an understanding, never a chance to explain or ask for reprieve. We put aside our needs, granted you all our attention, and now we have returned to be here, to do as we must for our own needs. If only you understood, if only it were possible for their to be a rest so we can do as we must. I am already overwhelmed by everything else, and you insist on making quite certain there will be even more.

I think that tomorrow I am going to try and sit down with some of my poetry and begin attempting to select some work for the manuscript I am working on.  As I said, I think that the real key is going to be choosing the work and letting it begin to speak to me.  I know that I want to organize it in a way that is similar to the chapbook manuscript that I did a few years ago, though not precisely like that.  That manuscript is designed so that each poem has a twin, with the sets organized in a way that is intended to provide a journey for the reader.  Specifically, the poems are set up in a sort of parenthetical structure where the first and last poems of the book are connected, as are the second and the second to last, the third and third to last, and so on.  I don't think that particular approach would be right in a longer work, but I think the idea of connecting poems together in an ordered way is a good idea, and my hope is to, once more, craft a journey for the reader.  I think i

I Do Not Feel Safe There The choices you offer do not matter.  They are details that will change nothing about the situation.  I know you will not listen if I express this. I know it will only upset you, and you will not listen. You want me to choose, to say what is good, but none of it can be. It is not enough. It will change nothing, will not improve this. It will not help. It is not a good thing. I should tell you to do what you wish and stop pretending I matter. This hurts worse. If you do not care about my needs at least be honest with me.

I have been thinking quite a bit, lately, about the balancing of my own desire to be honest and straightforward in my writing, most particularly my poetry, and the need to be respectful of those in my life.  I've no desire to cause pain to the people I care about, wouldn't even want to do anything that would upset an acquaintance with my writing, but I also want to be able to write about my life.  For me, a part of the way I have approached this is to be emotionally honest but without always being clear about the context or the details, even, at times, not providing anything except my own impressions.  This does not always create straightforward poems, indeed, I can recognize that it might make some of my work feel obscure or, even, a bit withholding, though that later is certainly not my intention.  I think that I am learning to navigate this approach right now.  For a very long time, my general attitude was not to write about personal topics in general, unless it was through

That was explained It was intended and the intent was clear, was explicit. I do not know what else there is. Why do I care to discuss it? I do not know. It does not matter. It will not matter. There is not a way for it to become a problem except through me. I can avoid it all. I could have avoided it even before this. I had thought of it as a possibility. That is why I made it all clear. I do not know what your intent is. I do not know what to do about that. I should do as I think is best. Maybe that is the only answer, or just the best one I can have for most situations.

It has been a long and busy day.  I had to be up quite early this morning, as we had someone coming to do some work on the air conditioner.  Because the unit is in the attic, they have to come early in the day to avoid too much heat.  I gather it was already quite hot up there, even at nine this morning.  The fellow who came to do the work told me that this summer has been so bad he is actually changing careers.  He is going back to school for his masters degree in psychology so that he won't have to spend all his time climbing into people's attics in the heat.  Perhaps that is a small positive impact of climate change?  It is not of great value compared to the negatives, obviously, but it is nice to imagine some positive, and a nice young man going back to school so he can learn to help people with their problems seems positive, though I must admit that I am always grateful when they come to fix my air conditioner.

I could fix it without much trouble if I had a chance and the proper tool, at least I think I can. It may be delicate and break worse before it is back in shape. I do not know.  That could be what happens. I do not think so. I do not think it is that delicate, but it is not mine, it is yours and you can decide. I do not think there is a great risk, though.  I think it is not good the way it is now. I think it is fine if it breaks worse. It will only mean it cannot be fixed.

I have largely resolved some of my major concerns around things with my home.  It is not that the repairs have actually been made, but I am in the process of getting that done, and I was concerned about doing it in a timely enough manner for my community.  I was able to speak with someone today and resolved that matter, so I am not stressing about it quite as much.  I still have a lot that needs to be dealt with, but at least I am not stressed that it will also result in my getting into other types of trouble for this.  I am kind of more worried about that than the actual repairs, if I am honest, which feels a bit warped right now, but is the truth of how I have been dealing with things.

I did not begin though I planned to, or said I did, at least, and I should begin, I should make a plan, a better one, a deeper one that is real and not just intentions. If I could rely on my intent, on saying I will do this, I am going to do it and that was enough, so much would be done already. I need to do it, not speak or imagine.  I need to plan the time and the place and make it important enough that I don't just let it pass by. It is not something I should let go. I have let too many things go despite my intentions to hold on and do better. That is the problem with intending, at least if it is relied upon alone. I must do more than that.

Now that Melissa and I are back at home, I want to really begin working on a full length poetry manuscript.  The first thing that I am going to need to do is to just select work for it, and that is not going to be the easiest task.  I have a lot of poetry and I am not certain about just what I want to focus this book around.  It will be good to begin with some poems that I have had online, I think, in particular those that have received the best response from my audience.  That will provide a bit of a direction, perhaps.  It may be enough to have even just a few poems to start building around.  I have a process for this, I know, but it is very intuitive and not at all clear, but I know what has worked for me in compiling poems into a chapbook, and I feel that this is going to be a similar kind of process, just on a different scale.  The real key is to just get a sense of the work and then to examine how it all connects together, though I also know that I will need to keep myself from g

We are told it will be fine that things go too slow for it to matter very much, that our response will be adequate to prevent negative repercussions. That is what we were told and I am trying to be calm, to trust that it will be fine and all is well.  I do not know. I do not have any certainty. It does not help to worry, though. I do not have any action to take no matter the true situation. Relaxing might be best. It would be.  I am aware that it would be.  I was told not to be too concerned. It has not helped. I wonder if a part of me just feels much better with all this worry, recognizes the joy of having an anxiety that I can point at and name.

I am feeling quite a lot of stress tonight, mostly to do with things here at home.  We have a number of things around the house that need to be dealt with pretty much immediately, and I haven't been able to do anything about it quite yet, and that is not great.  A lot of it is stuff I knew I needed to deal with, but it has been very overwhelming for me, which is not a great excuse or anything that will help to alter this.  I don't know what I am supposed to do or say, though.  I have tried to deal with it, now, and am doing what I can at this point.  I just don't know what to say other than that.  It just has me stressing out right now.  I wish I could actually do something more productive, but that doesn't seem to be an actual option at the moment.

We Need A New Plan I begin to think of it but do not trust that, do not want to, either. I want it to be  as it should have been and not another way, and even if I do want it, or just accept it as needed, as what can be and must be because of the way it has been and how it has become, even if that is all true, I do not believe it, do not trust that there is a way for it to be. I have been through to much to think it can be another way. Why bother with that? Why try or dream of it? I know it cannot be left undone, that it must be dealt with. It is not a choice, really. A part of me does not care, really, I just want the destruction to come and take me with it.

I began working on a second novel a few days ago.  It is something I had discussed with my therapist and she expressed a certain interest in it, as a therapeutic exercise, to be clear, and so I said I would work on it.  I think I may have mentioned this happening already, and even discussed that I find it helpful to have someone pushing me to do this.  Really, I have been having a lot of difficulty writing the novel I have been working on, and I have no intention of stopping that work, but I hope that having another piece on the way might trigger a bit of new thinking.  In any case, whether that happens or not, I am feeling good about the new piece, and am excited to have something that I am kind of being pushed to work on for an immediate external reason.

There was a kindness to things and a sense of it going well, being well, getting better.  The tomorrow I imagined was one that would be worth living. It might have been there was truth to it, or the possibility of things going well, or it may have been lies.  Maybe it was nothing and I imagine it, or remember it this way, now. It might have been something else. I cannot be certain.  I know what I can recall and what I think was true. I know that I wish it could be different than it is now, that what was seemed to suggest a way forward that was not the way taken. I wonder at the paths that remain, if they do remain. I have not found them, but what does that prove?

It is a bit strange to be back home right now.  I am still not fully back, mentally, that is for certain, but I do feel good about the things I did today.  Melissa and I both went to the gym, which was good and represented a return to our normal routines.  I still have a whole lot to do that will facilitate getting things back on track, but for the moment, I feel like that was a good step.  Also, I fixed the air conditioning which seemed to have stopped running while we were away.  I was pretty certain I knew what the problem was, and how to handle it, so, while in the past I would probably have just called the repair guys, I was able to get it turned back on all by myself.  I am kind of surprised that I am actually capable of stuff like that, sometimes.

There Were Costs to Consider I understand you want me to recognize  and accept that way of understanding, to notice why this is better and best as an outcome, how it would be and the troubles that would come if it had gone any other way. I do not need those lessons from you, do not need to learn of the practicalities, not right now.  I am not concerned with that.  Besides, I can argue it all away if I wished to.  It is not anything that changes my perspective or the loss I feel.  I do not know if it will shift, but I know this is not the answer. It feels ghoulish and manipulative, even though it is only facts. I understand the reason you had to share them.

Melissa and I arrived at our house in Florida tonight.  It was another long day of driving, and a bit stressful.  Melissa did the majority of the driving today, with me just doing the last hour or so, which was her choice, to be clear.  It would have been a fairly easy drive if it were not for the craziness of certain other drivers, and some random, terrifying events.  At one point, a truck in front of me spat a tire tread directly at us.  Fortunately it missed the car, and the truck did not spin out or anything.  I don't really know if it was that trucks own tire or just road debris that got spat out from under the wheels.  I did get away from that truck quite quickly after, though.  We made it safely, anyhow, and I am glad to be done with the drive.  Now that we are back home, it gives both of us the chance to recenter and focus on the things we need to take care of for ourselves.

The first thing is what is needed, is obligations. That is what comes. There is not appreciation or expression of affection or gladness about anything else. That is all left aside, is pushed off for later times. The thing to know is what is required, what is needed, demanded, expected.  It is there before the rest.  No, that is a lie. The rest will never come.

Melissa and I are in Savannah, Georgia tonight.  We shared the drive today, though I was a bit tired when it was my turn at the wheel.  I still managed to do my part.  It worked out alright, and I think we found a hotel that we like and  stay at in the future.  The place we had stayed at previously is no longer in business, it seems.  

I must have understood  or I would not have said what I did.  I was not aware but was responding, perhaps. It is not clear to me.  I may be  an asshole to you, if it is what I imagine, but I was confused, but part of me knew, too a part that put it there and I said  what was just what bad been there. Maybe I am the terrible one. I did not process it to consciousness. I realize it now, later than too late. I cannot do anything but apologize and that would be quite awkward for me. I need to.  I am certain you will say nothing or say it is nothng, but it is not.  It is more.  I recognize it, now.