I've always found March to be one of the stranger months, and this one is no exception. I'm ready for it to be over, ready to be dealing with a lower level of uncertainty--but the good news is, an internal impulse to be optimistic and to stablize, to control what I can and figure out a way to be less buffeted by what I can't (as the cheesy plaques say, I guess) is emerging out of the chaos.
This weekend we had breakfast tacos at "Gospel Brunch" and I fell in love with live oaks and Austin's trailer-park-like neighborhoods. We heard really bad poetry read in a fantastic venue, and I realized that I want to write like me but hang out in places like that, which, odd though this sounds, is kind of a breakthrough. The experience also increased my admiration for my poet-friends and their work, because it's no small thing for a poem to excite me, and their poems so often do. The random encounters were unstressful and the planned ones were really wonderful. It's nice to be back to my room and my introversion, but also I miss the trip pretty bad.
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