I've been to West Chester three times, and every time I come home high as a kite for a couple of weeks and then just flatline. It's partly catching up with my home and work life (the latter's especially crazy this time, as we're near the end of a very large development project), but a big part of it, I think, is tasting community and then losing it. I said a week ago I was close to being against scenes, and I still am, and I still intend to say something serious about that, but there is nourishment in them for those who can still be ruthless self-critics.
Besides being down, I've been busy with non-blog writing projects: a solicited translation, a collaborative verse play (me, Matthew Shindell, and Reb Livingston) to be performed next week in Baltimore with the Lucipo folks, and the anniversary poem (eleven years last Saturday!) which my wife has made clear she expects and which gives me great joy to write.
Psst — Wish me luck this Friday. It's a secret.
9:00:03 PM
|
|