Some Small Things

I still can't seem to get on the regular blogging path, but here's some things from this week:

*I memorized a new poem I wrote called "I'm wearing that blue dress I hardly ever wear"

*I cleaned my kitchen on Sunday and I've kept it clean ever since. Those who know me know this is a huge event.

*A friend of mine just finished making me a Pogues mix and is sending it in the mail tomorrow, and I'm excited because feels about the (former?) Pogues the way I do about Gogol Bordello, and I am game for any such exposure.

*I took a sick day today for reasons I'll keep to myself.

*I found $40 in cash that I forgot about behind an envelope on a stand near my desk.

*I kept forgetting that April is National Poetry Month, and then remembering, and then forgetting, and then today, remembered again. Click here to sign up to receive a-poem-a-day in your e-mail inbox for the month of April. (*I've just decided that I will, in honor of NPM, post a poem, well, mmmh, I was going to say every day but don't know if that's realistic. I'll do something daily. Maybe favorite poems. Maybe short-spontaneous-created-right-here poems. I'll think about it. Tidbits that I write in my purse-notebook when I'm out and about. I will strive for regularity!)

*I braved Wal-Mart. I feel like I should go to confession. I hate going in there. I really hate it. Despite the fact that it pushes my politically incorrect button (which is, surprisingly and relatively, small), it's one of the few places in the world where I just can't bear to reach out and connect with the rest of humanity. It feels like the supermarket for the miserable people, and while I don't consider myself psychic, I do consider myself sensitive and I go in there and it's thick with something I can't name--it makes me feel hopeless. The only way I could be in there for more than an hour is if I brought in a huge boom box and placed it on the floor (maybe in the purse section) and blasted Gogol Bordello, and started a really fun celebratory riot with shit flying everywhere. All to say, when I do go in, I don't look at anyone. I just follow the red lines of the main trail and head toward the fabric department (no short cuts, too dangerous) where I buy my cheap yarn and then I get the hell out of there. On this particular visit, I went from the smell of kitty litter to the aroma of French fries to the pukey smell of fruity hair conditioner within a span of three feet. God bless America.