POET | PLAYWRIGHT | TEACHING ARTIST
Getting going in the mornings is like trying to herd cats, as they say. I remember pulling the crockpot out of the corner and onto the countertop to start dinner. Lunchtime I went back into the kitchen to see it there. Empty. Useless. Forlorn. I’m projecting again. I keep reminding myself (at the risk of…
My coffee machine died this morning. I suppose nearly ten years – five years beyond warranty – is a pretty good deal. So here I sit with freeze dried coffee, wet hair and the wind hitting the windowpane. A dried leaf falls from the cut roses on my desk, like a deliberate grab for attention.…
The snow is melting off the roof. I can hear it dripping outside the window. I didn’t run this morning. Instead, I took two paracetamol and emptied the dishwasher. I still feel out-of-sorts. And again this question of “normal” arises. The more I feel things slip out of control, the more I keep rearranging the…