W

I dropped my poetry class because I didn't want to write poetry anymore. I'd been waiting for a year to get into that class, and then I was there and I hated it. For just a moment, I wondered if I was playing mind games with myself. I was one of two undergrads in there and everybody else was getting their masters in something. I thought they were looking down on me. Maybe I just didn't like it because I realized that my poetry isn't any good. It never really was. Contrived? Yes. Good? No.

In fact, I didn't really drop the class. I withdrew. Which means a W on my transcript and a $10 fee on my account. But I don't regret it. I haven't regretted it. Every Tuesday night I know they're meeting together and reading poetry and analyzing and sitting silently under Dr. Larsen's gaze. He waits for them to say something intelligent, understanding, correct. And I'm walking home. My giraffe printed bag heavy on my shoulder, my hair blowing sticky on my face. And I'm so glad to be moving away.

Sometimes the hardest thing is to figure out where you want to be. But you're so grateful when--now and then--you find the place, and you're there.

Jimmy has just started potty-training, so...

Kegan and I aren't in nursery today. Which is a relief. Sometimes I really enjoy nursery. Mostly I just enjoy it if no one is having a meltdown. Runny noses, little feet climbing onto my lap and moving my skirt up around mid-thigh, spilled paper cups of water, Goldfish crumbs ground into the carpet, chubby hands that sock another kid in the face, the rank smell of wet (or otherwise) diapers--all of it is a-okay with me if nobody's screaming.

But lately there's been a least one child screaming every single week. And if one kid gets going, others usually follow suit. It's like a choir from you-know-where.

They stand there on their porky little legs, snot pouring down their chin, getting all red around the eyebrows, looking at me like I'm the devil incarnate--but they still want me pick them up and hold them. It's a funky world in nursery.

But today--ah today--I get to go to Sunday School and Relief Society. Boo-yah.

Cymru

Yet again, I've been trying to find a way to go to Wales, and I'm not having a lot of luck. I was hoping to find some obscure internship at some obscure publishing house. But if Wales has any publishing houses at all, it's hiding them well. Currently, there don't seem to be any editing jobs out there either.

You got a fast car

I loved this song in high school or something. Just remembered it yesterday.

So good.