tattoo update--closer to normal skin height, absolutely darling. Now that the swelling’s down, I can see where the guy colored outside the lines a little bit. Ever more endearing. I’m always coloring outside the lines, anyway. Hey, check it out! The colors in my tattoo are almost the same as the background and unvisited links in my journal. I am so cool.

self-criticism

6/19/99

I was under orders today to get out of the house, so I dawdled and finally left around 3. I drifted down Kalamazoo St., nowhere to go in mind, and ended up at a yard sale. Bought a few books that I really didn’t need. Totally did not need any more books. But this chick was selling a bunch of poetry books for 10-25 cents each, so I had no choice, now, did I? Auden, Eliot, Thomas, Heaney. And one of the Moosewood cookbooks. None for more than a quarter.

Then, after buying all those books, I went to the bookstore, snagged a comfy chair, and spent two hours reading. Drank mocha to make sure I’d be nice and jittery for the rest of the evening.

Sparked by something on a mailing list, I started reading my old entries to see if I could find ones I liked. Just as I suspected: I like almost all of my most recent entries, but the older ones have fallen in my esteem. I can deduce, from this pattern, that the newer ones will also fall, once I’m used to/separated from them. Discovering this little quirk does wonders for one’s self esteem, let me tell you.

It takes years for me to edit my poetry. At first they seem perfect, though I know better. By the time I get around to editing, the poems are set in my mind, and I’d rather write new than change the old, beginning the problem anew. Though, I guess I’d have to be writing poetry in order to have this problem—I haven’t written much lately.

[melodramatic angst voice]

My creative energy has been sucked away! I spend all my time interpreting others’ creative efforts. Play this, sing this, read this! Write about this! Play this, this, this!

[end melodrama]

Bullshit.

My plans for post-move are slowly coming together. I’ll have to do something about a job, but I want it to be part-time, so I can get all the time off I need. In order to be part-time I’ll have to get married sooner, for the money and insurance stuff. I don’t mind the getting-married part, but I’m not happy to have to concede to all the people who want me to have the wedding their way.

*** there’s an idea. maybe I’ll get married at Burger King. “have it your way....” ***

While I’m doing the peon slave thing, I’ll practice my little ass off. There are a few competitions to be won, with cash prizes. I’ve always been too busy with school to put my heart into the preliminary rounds. A few solo recitals will get me practicing and reduce performance anxiety. I’m also going to work on publication—those editions/arrangements, maybe some reviews.

After a year or two I either have to get a college gig or go back to grad school, again. So I’m building my resume for a while.