Because I am bored and going through a closet. In the Midwest, it is snowing, fat lazy slow flakes. The top of the sky is white and hazy. Wait, it stopped. Start again please.
I am on spring break. I hope to: see friends, read the two novels I brought in my suitcase, reshuffle my poetry manuscript, type the handwritten changes I've made to my novel draft, digitize my music collection, drink tea, run in the cold cold snow, not drink.
I've been listening to a lot of Lisa Loeb. She's better than you remember.
A Contest: the first person to correctly guess the origin of my blog's subtitle (that line thing there under the um, title) wins a copy of my chapbook!
I'm sorry it's not fancier. That's all I have. I'll sign it.
Maybe I'll throw in something from my childhood room. A miniature perfume bottle? A medal from solo and ensemble contest? A stuffed white rabbit? A Post-it note with please god, let me write like a man? It's a museum around here to me at twelve.
Snow again. Come on. Come on, for me.
It's not hard.
