Poetry Postcard Project: Day Ten

Little Miss Talkalot and I are now about 6 days behind schedule. We're moving slowly, but at least we're moving.

And speaking of moving, I'm in the process of moving all of my stuff from my office on the central campus of Stuffolk to the eastern campus . . . as well as taking care of various responsibilities for our union's New Member program and the Creative Writing Festival. On the home front, we've been moving The Boy into his older sister's room, and turning it into a livable space for both little people. There are a LOT of toys and pieces of furniture to contend with. So my attention's a little divided these days.

Also, I feel really ambivalent about my move to the new campus. Maybe it's because I've got so much going on that it's difficult for the realization to sink in  . . . but I think it's because I was really very happy working with everyone in my old department, and I'm finding it difficult to imagine NOT being a part of it.

Also, I was on that campus for almost 9 years. That's quite a chunk of time. And boy, do I have the clutter to show for it! Unpacking's gonna be a pain in the ass. But ultimately, this move is for the best. I'll be closer to my little family (The Boy's in Kindergarten this year -- I'm still finding it hard to believe) and the expense of commuting (gas) is going to be cut in half, I think. Plus, I'll be down the hall from A.P. again (but don't let him know I think that's a good thing).

In happy, less-confused news, A.P. and I are adding to our list of readings for the fall. We're now doing a reading at Canio's Books in Sag Harbor in December, in addition to the readings in Virginia in November and February. For those who might be interested and/or in the area, here's the list. Also, you can sign up to receive emails about upcoming readings here (I'm only going to send out these emails once a month -- if that. And only if there's something to say).

Okay. More later, gators. Now it's time for some postcard pictures:

Little Miss Talkalot took these photos herself. And then took the postcard to the mailbox by herself, without telling anyone, for which she was gently reprimanded. (I'm terrified of someone stealing her.)

Oy. The spelling. And she KNOWS the difference between there/their, I swear.

Little Miss Talkalot and The Boy are both horrified and disgusted by this image. It's warranted, I think. (Fetal Trapping in Northern California by Mark Ryden)

I'm not sure you can call these things poems anymore. They're just exercises in verse. And yet I keeping putting them up here, and inflicting them on people via the US Postal Service.... I'm awesome.


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