Oh blog, how I have forgotten about you---blame it on the week of hazy celebrations or travels, but I've been a bad writer. There were so many things that I wanted to tell you, so many good poetry things---about readings, and then about travel, my mom found a great website about trips women should take though I forget where I put the link (reminded me that yes, I am still a feminist) even though I'm up to my neck in laundry and love finding new recipes in Real Simple. The 18 year old me is cussing out the 28 year old me (where are your values? why are you in the house so much? Do you really like crocheting?). I also realized I can't party like I used to. This new body, while open to yoga and tight bartending outfits refuses to be a temple to alcoholic nights. I have become a puker in my mid-to-late twenties. My body seems to like to expel fun---booze, food---my delicate stomach can't even handle an excess of guacamole. Too much yummy Mexican even cuts a night short. *sigh* Lately I just feel busy---perhaps I've taken on to much. I miss those days when I could just hang out. Though I think that's getting older---just taking on more responsibilities. I feel like I have so much correspondence, press stuff, teaching stuff, that yoga really becomes down time. And there are so many other things that I want to start doing. I'd like to get back to swing dancing and have a regular date with the girls or the poets. Ramola and I are going to try and get something together at GW for us faculty to hang out and share our work. I go back to what Maj has advised. Plant your roots and do the good work. Sometimes I question how much good work I'm doing. Things don't feel as organic as I would prefer. Everything is about a purpose in a way. Rumi has been coming back to me lately---the National Geographic photographer who comes to Rouge between internation stints told me he's working on a Rumi article and they've been reading a lot of Rumi in yoga class. So I'll leave you with Rumi as I ammend my neglects: "Love is a tree with branches reaching into eternity and roots set deep in eternity, and no trunk! Have you seen it? The mind cannot. Your desiring cannot."
PS---Burlesque Poetry tonight!!!