I have to write a poem. Now that, to many of you may not seem much like the crisis it is to me. You see, usually I have no trouble blurting out crappy verse onto a page and handing it in to a workshop when need be. Which, thankfully is not usual in any case. Thing is I am dried up. All I can think about is stupid Susan Ludemann and her asinine whinings about her dog-pee couch and carpet that Amber’s cat and my rabbit are apparently responsible for. And for the ridiculous excuses she gave for not giving John my mail when he went to collect it from her with a letter from me. This woman is a piece of work I tell you. John thinks I should write a poem about her and her idiocies, but I can’t bring myself to do so, even in jest. I have a hell of a lot of ammo though. At least not in a form that isn’t a crude limerick. (She’s taking her ex-boyfriend to court for dumping her – how’s that for charges?) If I did write a poem about her it wold be called something along the lines of “the Bitch Queen of Irrational Behaviour”. Thing is I want to get this whole M thing out of my system and I’m still not quite able. Our new poetry teacher, Sean Virgo said in our last class something along the lines of this: ‘A Poem rests inside us until it is ready to be laid out on paper, ready to be written and read.’ I believe this is true with certain subject matter surely.
So. Yeah. Frustrated anyone?
On another topic, My mom turns 57 tomorrow. She’s coming for lunch, so I get to tease her about how old she is… NOT! I couldn’t do that! teehee. Thing is, because of Ludeman having my grant money, I’m broke pretty much until Friday payday, so I can’t get my mom the gift I want to give her, which SUCKS! Oh well, I have enough for lunch, which is good.
I’m going to try this writing thing again, ok?