Thanks for all the kind wishes for my birthday. 41 feels pretty good. But Valentine’s Day was tough this year, as you might imagine.
Most days, I feel like I can handle the divorce. I know I will be OK. I know I can get through anything. But anytime there is a first—first "Gosh, I know he's like this" moment, first snow that I have to shovel, first holiday, first birthday that the kids and I celebrate in this new reality—the hurt and anger is overwhelming.
When I think about Valentine’s Day 2009, I remember this post with these beautiful flowers—I now know it was all a big, fat, fucking lie.
I needed to say that today. Yes, I feel better now.
Just completed my NEA fellowship application! I wanted to open a bottle of champagne just for completing the darn thing. Only took me 3 hours and 16 minutes to finish. I thought it would take the better part of a day, and I saw lots of questions on listservs about the forms. It wasn’t that bad. It’s done and I can breathe again.
This week is crazy busy—more so than normal. Finishing the grant was huge because it frees me up to work on a new poem for Tuesday night’s workshop. On Wednesday, I get to meet and hear Claudia Rankine read her work at Babson (I’m having dinner with her and some members of the Arts and Humanities faculty—I’m so excited!). Then on Thursday, I’m going to D.C. to read at two events!
When I look in the mirror, I don’t know this woman who has just published her first book and jets off to give poetry readings. But I like her; I can’t wait to see what she does next.
Special thanks to Jim Brock and his class of talented LIT students at FGCU for reading the blog, asking insightful questions, and offering kind words about Underlife. Keep those questions coming!
This has been planned for a while, but I’m participating in the reading A Century of Black Voices: 1910-2010. Black poets of Massachusetts celebrate the words and the voices of our writing ancestors. The reading is on February 28 at the Brookline Public Library (details to come). Ironically, I chose to read poems by Lucille Clifton—no clue what I’m going to say about her incomparable spirit.