Hard week, you guys.

Or weeks, actually. Not hard, like, by global standards. More like, hard to the point where I question my own character and need to lie down and be quiet and/or dream of lying down and being quiet, and maybe also cry.

One of my friends told me a story recently, a story that is simultaneously so awful and so hilarious--it focuses on a wedding, not hers or her children's, gone epically awry; the story culminates in my friend taking herself into her hotel room and lying on the bed, a parka zipped all the way up to the top of her head, so she would both have to be quiet and not have her senses taxed even one more tiny iota, lest her brains implode.

Like that.

Remember when Tracy Jordan was so overstimulated because Kenneth pointed out upsetting things to him, so much so that he had to have Grizz sit on him? (thank you, Walker, for finding 30 Rock quotes!)

Also like that.

I almost wrote a sentence just now in which I made a statement about my character. But eff that, you guys. I'm too tired, and also I have just zipped my parka all the way up over my face and Grizz is sitting on me, so, you know, character analysis is kind of out of the question at the moment.

To rescue this day/week(s), I:

• worked out, even though I felt tired and, really, the worst, and felt, predictably, so much better;
• went to a great expensive Mexican restaurant and thoroughly enjoyed the guacamole made table-side, and my mole poblano enchilada, as well as my strawberry flavored Jarisco, and ALSO the super-adorable and delicious tiny churro that was delivered with the check;
• watching this movie; and
• writing this poem.

I am anticipating a weekend of basement cleaning and poem-writing and grocery-shopping and maybe a little grading and definitely working out and maybe some other stuff. No character analysis. I hope yours is similarly, well, better than your week, if your week was kind of challenging (non-global standard awful, it goes without saying, because #narcissism).

Set list.

Well, Ben Folds was here, y'all, and it was awesome. That's all I'm saying. And here's the set list, because I took notes. Oh yeah.

[song from new album, I think]
Gone
Hiroshima [from new album]
Bastard
Landed
Free Coffee [from new album]
Still Fighting It
Jesusland
Battle of Who Could Care Less
Annie Waits
All U Can Eat
Lullabye
Fred Jones Pt. 2
The Luckiest
Narcolepsy
Army
Kate
Rockin the Suburbs
Underground
[little rap about Salt Lake City]
Not the Same

encores:

A song that starts "If there's a God, he's looking down on us and our football team" [pretty sure this was a new one]
One Angry Dwarf and 200 Solemn Faces a Year

The party's over.

The last writer is on a plane back to where he or she came from. The last reading, the last reception, the last horrified parent walking out at an instance of the f-word. The last manuscript consultation, the last workshop, the last coffee run. Writers at Work is over, and I am a little sad, a lot exhausted, pretty over-stimulated, and I am probably feeling some other emotions in the mix, as well.

I had to have a brief cry about five or six times yesterday. I am a crier, but that's a lot even for me. Why, I really can't say. I slept in the afternoon. The historian made sure the swamp cooler was working (even though we really need to get a new one, which entails research about getting the right kind, etc., which takes time, time I didn't have because it was hot and I really needed a nap), a gesture of loving kindness that brought about one of the brief cries. When we went to the farmer's market in the morning, which usually is a big high for me, it just seemed like so. many. people. that we kind of had to move right on out of there.

Anyway, last night, after we came home from our movie (Once, which I highly, highly recommend--a straightforward music-based movie, and it is wonderful music, that is just the kind of thing we all need sometimes), I went straight to this laptop and started composing a poem. That's a good feeling at any time. I was listening to the new Feist (again, highly recommended) and then to Martina Topley-Bird and then to Massive Attack. Dear reader, I composed straight through three cds. That's how good it was to write a poem. I intend for this to be the beginning of a stretch of creativity the likes of which the megastore hasn't seen in quite some time. If it involves some random crying, so be it.

Definitely.

1. "I've just come from Modern Poetry class, and boy are my frontal lobes chafed." (My Science Fiction Twin)

Don't usually feel that way about modern poetry myself (although, come on, it really depends on the poet, doesn't it?).

2. Too much grading to do? so many students asking for extensions your head is coming unscrewed? suffering from brainmelt? Then bake, I say. There's a beautiful Procrastination Cake coming out of the oven any minute now. That comes after the Procrastination Thai food and the Procrastination movie (Fracture) (otherwise known as the Procrastination date, otherwise known as the Procrastination dinner-and-a-movie. And cake.)

3. Those who have opined within my hearing that there's nothing good at the movies, oh my gosh. You are crazy! There's so much good at the movies, including, and to wit: The Namesake, The Lookout, The Hoax. Also, Fracture was a completely good popcorn movie. Also, Becket, as in Richard Burton, is at the Regency. That's not to mention that Will Ferrell ice-skating movie which I am totally planning on seeing and totally laughing my ass off at.

4. But really, it's time to start finishing my work. That's tomorrow. That's after watching another track meet and taking the dogs to the park and maybe scrubbing my shower until it knows who's boss. And having some next-day Procrastination Cake.