Panic and Poetry

Hello. I have been a frenetic ball of stress this week, bouncing between my computer and my children in an attempt to keep the my course outlines clothed and fed and the children ready for my first day back at school next week. 

Wait, that doesn't sound right.

Between little sleep and little time to prep for classes I've been marvelously bitchy. It's poems like this one, which arrived in my email inbox this morning, that help me laugh a little and take a deep breath and realize I might be able to pull this thing off. This thing being, you know, adulthood. (Consequently, I like Jordan Davis' little note that accompanies his poem as well.) It's also a good reminder that I need to interact with my kids more, instead of trying to distract them with TV while I get shit done. I am one massive parenting #fail this month.

Little Miss Talkalot and I are going to be writing our August Poetry Postcard Projects into September. But we'll finish the task! I've told her -- because she's been resistant to writing every day -- that I don't mind if she doesn't like writing poetry every day. I don't expect her to like everything that I like -- but that when you say you're going to do something, you need to do that something, even if it means doing it behind schedule. So . . . poem-ing will probably continue into September. People expect their postcards. 

And then I'll keel over into a fetal position and have a good cathartic weep or something. Or I won't, because I won't have time for it, because the semester will be well under way. I'll have to save my nervous breakdown for January or something.