I was up all night last night, sick as a dog from the birthday dinner I made. I think it was all the rich pasta coupled with organic coffee! Please, do not ever let me have coffee again.

But in my sickness, unable to sleep, I tried to pull a Stephen King and think of what I would want to write in my novel. I thought a lot about Anne of Cleves and some other topics, and I just don't have anything that stands out yet. I might have to spend some weekends in the university library and sort things out, look through some titles and articles. There's got to be something good out there to mold.

There just aren't enough days left until Christmas. I have way too much packing to do.

Is it 2004 yet?

The reading at Cleo's went pretty well. There were 8 people there (expected for a Friday in Dec.??) who were very nice, supportive. They listened attentively and responded. :) A few of them read at the open mic after me, and there were a few very good pieces there. I read the first draft of the Thanksgiving travel poem, and it did not go over well. Too long and all over the place, I realize. There are good lines in it, which I will salvage and retool. As usual, the same works seemed to be best received. I hope that soon I will write something new that also works well.

Today I got a response from Blue Mesa Review. They liked my new sonnet on Nostradamus's wife and considered my work carefully, but they did not select anything. I also just got notice from the Journal of New Jersey Poets that my poems (submitted Nov 2002) were rejected. Argh. Tonight G hurt his leg and can't hold the poet's meeting. He told me to call S and meet without him, but I just don't have the energy to do it tonight. Maybe right after new year's. I think the poetry gods are against me today.

On a good note, I was scheduled for May in Hoboken for a reading at a new place. :) Hoorah. I want to see if there are any other places I can read early next year, even if there are just some new open mics I can go to.

Thought: Maybe the reason I can't write poetry well right now is that I keep thinking about writing fiction! Another idea today for a short story. Just not sure what to write these days. *humph*

Time to do more holiday preparing and cleaning up around here. I feel like I am living in a warehouse. And I'll be so much older soon that I may not be able to reach down to pick things up!

Well, as far as the "gelling," I did come up with a poem first draft of the car ride experience. I hope I can get something together with it (or another) by Friday when I have a reading. I'd like to read something new.

In walking around a mall today I thought of writing a poem about my father and his uncertaintly of the actual date of his birth, how that has affected him. Not sure if that will work. I am about to type out my notes on the disappointment of seeing my hometown go to pot.

Two nice moments at the mall, making me feel better about the state of humanity today:

1. R and I came upon a small child (2 or 3) standing alone at the entrance to a store, looking out at the fast-flowing people stream. We slowed as we went into the store, and we looked for the parents but couldn't identify them or anyone with the child. So we hovered for a minute and watched the child turn in circles, stoic, not panicky. After another minute, a man stopped and pointed to ask if we were with the child. Then another man stopped and asked the same thing. So we all stood watching the boy, wondering what to do next, when the crazed dad came out of the store looking for his son and then saw him and wrangled him in. It made me feel good to know that there are other people out there who actually pay attention.

2. At the crowded food court we sat at a small table next to a high-school couple. When they got up to leave, the boy wished us happy holidays. Wow. Isn't it sad to find that someone that age making a nice statement like that makes such an impression? It was like a moment from a 1950s novel.

Until later ... :)