1. read the rest of an Irish detective novel that I started last night.
2. find the book I'm supposed to be reading for my reading group.
3. take a tiny nap.
4. check my e-mail and all the blogs and aggregators a truly shocking number of times.
5. check when The Closer and Trust Me are going to be on tonight.
However: I did finally bring myself to do it. I circled around it first by making a revision agenda: what poems in the manuscript are pretty close to finished, what ones are in need of a stiff revision, what ones still need to be fleshed out quite a bit. Then, I started in on one of them, making notes and looking at the feedback my group gave me, etc. etc. Also some notes for a new poem or so. Even the detective novel ended up feeling like not a waste of my time--something about the writing in it, and the way sex and death and curiosity and persistence intertwined in its plot, kept me going while I wrote and wrote and wrote.