Not Waving But Drowning

Is this not the most apt phrase ever? Maybe Stevie Smith wrote the ultimate poem. I feel like this every time someone says hi to me in the hallway at this time of year . . . 
Other Person: Hey, how's it going?
Me: (Suuuper chipper) Oh, good! Fine! How are you? (Prolonged, tinny, nervous laughter)
I might be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Actually, I know that I'm not -- I don't think people who are about to have a nervous breakdown are conscious of the fact. I'm just in the weeds. Major f*****g weeds. 

Anyway, I received an acceptance for a poem from the fairy tale part of my manuscript this week, which marks the first time ANY poem from that part of the book will see the light of day, so I thought it worth posting here (and it gave me the excuse to take a break from the months-long backlog of grading I'm doing).

The poem will appear in So to Speak: A Feminist Journal of Language and Art, Spring 2015. Yay!

I needed the good news. And I was all like, "this makes up for everything!" when I received the email while waiting for my kids to get off the bus. And then they got off the bus, and Little Miss Talkalot had a face like a thundercloud because of GIRL DRAMA and The Boy proceeded to spill his Pokemon cards all over the floor of the car which precipitated an epic melt down . . . and then I was all like, "NOPE! HAHAHAHAHAHA." And then I wept into the steering wheel while the children looked on in confusion.

Just kidding! Kind of. There was no weeping, but I do think I banged my head against the steering wheel in frustration. And I don't think the kids noticed, because . . . well, GIRL DRAMA and SPILT POKEMON CARDS.

Happy Wednesday, ya'll.


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