Still here, albeit in poetic form.

I'm just writing poems, that's all. Or 'poems,' in some cases. That's why there have been no blog posts, in case you have been standing around wondering.

Anyway, I've posted almost all of the poems here.  As per usual, it's a mixed bag:

(last night in the dark:) 

Me: I can't wait for this week to be over. 

The historian: I know. 

[long pause:] 

Me: At least I only have six more poems to write. 

Sigh.

But also as per usual, it's rewarding--if you write more, more ideas for writing come to you, and that's a fact, as in it walks, talks, and smells like a fact, even if I have no empirical data besides my own production to prove it.

But what I'm really here to say is that soon, very soon--on May 1, in fact--I will be writing blog posts again. I KNOW. I'm sure everyone has been waiting with bated breath for that to happen. Well, bated breath or whatevs, that is what's happening. On May 1. I am prognosticating, prophesying, and public service announcing it.

Poems, just in case you want a concise set of links:

(one)

(two)

(three)

(four)

(five)

(six)

(seven)

(eight)

(nine)

(ten)

(eleven)

(twelve)

(thirteen)

(fourteen)

(fifteen)(terrible self-pitying poem. there's always at least one.)

(sixteen)

(seventeen)

(eighteen)

(nineteen)

(twenty)(this will one day be my Prince poem. Not finished yet.)

(twenty-one)(too terrible to post--but one day it will be better. Based on some love-letters Charlotte Bronte sent to someone who did not requite her love. Tragic.)

(twenty-two)

(twenty-three)

(twenty-four)

Progress.

1. the chapter draft is about 40%. Forty percent of what? I don't know. I just feel like we've got 60% more to do. But 40% is better than what we had three days ago.
2. I'm feeling much better. About 97%.
3. Sadly, we have a deficit of fresh vegetables in the house. 
4. I am not going to measure how much summer is behind us, or how much is ahead. That way madness lies.
5. With the recent replantings, 100% of our plants are alive.
6. We went to zero movies this weekend, mainly because of all the recovery I had to do. 
7. We, did, however finish 100% of The Killing, seasons one and two, 100% of Mad Men, season six, and 100% of Top of the Lake. All highly recommended. 
8. Now what shall we watch, though?
9. Through a fluke summer, which included extensive traveling and illness, we have gone zero times to the Farmer's Market. Zero. I really can't believe it. 
10. I need to write a poem for my writing group tomorrow. I have zero ideas.

 On this mid-July Monday, I feel pretty optimistic, actually. I give this progress report a B+, with an E for citizenship.

AWP: the awesome first day, and how it will be different than all the rest of the days.

Technically, yesterday was the first day, since we (the estimable Dr. Write and I, moi, myself) arrived in Denver, and we picked up our registration stuff plus had snacks at Bubba Gump Shrimp, and I am not lying:

Waitress: Have you seen the movie Forrest Gump?

Us: Sure.

Waitress: Would you like to play Forrest Gump trivia?

Us: Will there be prizes?

Waitress: Yes. They may not be prizes that you value . . .

Us: [shrug. Collectively.]

Now is as good a time as any to point out that there were two other esteemed persons in our party at Bubba Gump Shrimp--friend P and elder statesman poet, whom I'll identify with the initials A.G.:

Waitress: What was the name of the girl Forrest Gump was in love with?

Me: (too, too quickly) Jenny. (luckily, I did not say Jennay, but I almost did.)

A couple more trivia questions ensued. Our prize?

Waitress: Everyone raise your hands. Now, give each other a high five!

Woe.

However, when the same cruel trick was played on a table nearby, we watched with interest:

A.G.: I want to see how they react when they find out what the prize is.

Me: Schadenfreude.

Ha. I made A.G. laugh. He will never remember my name, but he said, on the way out, that he would never forget that he had heard the word "Schadenfreude" uttered in Bubba Gump Shrimp. So I'll always have that.

HOWEVER: though yesterday may have involved picking up AWP materials, today was in fact the first day of the conference proper, and the people, I did it up proud. I attended and took copious notes at:

• a session on prose poems
• a session on putting together a book of poems
• Dr. Write's session on the new domestic fiction
• a tribute reading to Craig Arnold
• Nikwalk's panel on coming of age in the personal essay

And then, we ate dinner at H Burger, which was swell, because they had (a) amazing fries, and (b) a good veggie burger, and (c) I was unbelievably hungry. I was the kind of hungry that, when they brought my drink, in my case a lemonade/iced tea combo, I could feel it trickling into the empty space where my hunger was raging. That's because breakfast happened when the sun was not quite up yet, and lunch was some crazy seed bar--seriously: a bar made out of seeds and some slightly sweet hold-the-seeds-together stuff--and an apple. Which, the people, tided me over, but I think we can all agree: a seed bar and an apple are not lunch. NOT lunch.

After the entirely satisfactory dining experience, we met up with some people down in the teeming hotel bar which had the immediate effect on me of sending me, with kisses to the friends I wanted to see, fleeing back to my room.

Which leads me to this point: many many sessions in a day at a conference can be good. Each one of those sessions today was rewarding in its own way, and I am pleased to have attended. However, I have learned the following life lessons:

• I am exhausted.
• Eat lunch.
• Time to go to the book fair.
• Sleep better. (I am looking for an implementation expert for this bullet point.)

After fleeing, reflecting, and resting, I went down to the keynote address by Michael Chabon. As exhausted as I was and am, that was excellent. He is hilarious. I loved it. And now, Day One is concluded, I am several poems behind on the National Poetry Month extravaganza, my eyes hurt, and it is time for bed.

Check, check, check. And check.

I have written and posted a syllabus that I believe is a model of the genre.

I have put together the week-by-week schedule that, at this juncture, appears to be an impeccable and thoroughly detailed guide to exactly what we'll be doing in the course, moment by moment. It's like, if Lewis and Clark had a map, but the map was so detailed that it had each shrubbery, pebble, rivulet, and bottle cap (they had those back then, right?) on it, so they could not possibly lose their way. Ergo, therefore, and hence (also the name of my legal representatives), my students will never miss an assignment, a discussion post, a reading, nor will they ever fail to understand the gist of the course. At least, that's how it looks to me right now. In this very swinging moment.

I have developed learning modules, which will contain objectives and writing assignments, readings, links to discussions. (The "will contain" there indicates "work yet to be done," of course.)

I have about 65% or maybe 70% done of the presentation I'll be doing tomorrow at 10:10 a.m. on screencasts (with my colleague Jen C.). For me, 65-70% is like being finished. (Jen C., if you're reading this: kidding! it's all ready! no worries!)

So, I just have to find a few more readings, revise the writing assignments, write the objectives for the modules, create the discussion links. Piece of cake. Piece of crumb cake.

In other news, newly returned son last night came home late and pretty much stayed up all night (albeit noiselessly). I got up at 5 a.m. to take him to the airport, but I couldn't go to sleep till almost 1 because . . . he wasn't home yet. See, this is the problem with being the mom. No matter how much you know that it's not your responsibility to be awake when the kids roll home, sometimes your body will not synch up with that bit of logic. Thus, ergo & hence, I am exhausted. Let's call it a preview for a little featurette we'll call "Spring Semester: Return of the Unsleeping."

TAGS: featurette, preview, exhausted, cake

Projects: a progress report.

Project #1: The House.

Definition of problem: the downstairs has dun-colored carpet, wood-product paneling, weird-shaped rooms, and insufficient outlets. Also, teenagers regard the downstairs as their lair. Also, the dogs sleep down there. Also, the Wii resides there. Also, my vacuum cleaner has been out of commission for awhile now.

Solutions (enacted so far): Get on consumerreports.com, pay for a month's worth of consumer info, find out that the best vacuum cleaner in America for the money is made by Sears. Hightail it up to the Sears and buy said vacuum cleaner. Assemble it in the garage. Vacuum. Harangue young people who live in the basement ("lair") about getting their stuff out of the public spaces and into their rooms, about figuring out what to give away and what to keep, and about keeping their damn stuff out of the upstairs living room. Also harangue them about cleaning the bathrooms. Vacuum some more. Arrange for carpet cleaning guy to come.

Still to come: call a sheetrock guy to see if we can resolve the horrible paneling decor issue. Consider building in a wall of bookshelves. Imagine that peace, order, and harmony will arise from the execution of these plans.

Other projects:

• the Write Every Day project;
• the Go Outside and Get In Shape project;
• the Stay as Cool as Possible project;
• the Make the Perfect Iced Tea project;
• the Have the Best Vacation Ever project;
• the I Am Really Getting Old project;
• the Finally Make a Movie project; and
• the Get Ready for School project.

There has been progress, progress which is, in fact, as we speak, being made, on most of these projects. Not enough on some of them, of course. Today is the last day of July--there should be a sound effect that goes with it that embodies sadness, anxiety, and dread. Tomorrow: August 1. The sad, anxious, dreadful little countdown begins.