I would put a picture of myself here except that I am so ashamed.
Like when I came to workshop totally unprepared and did not even feel slightly guilty about it. In fact, I felt sort of good about my lax nature. I further did not even bother to use the class time to hurry up and write comments in the margins based on the useful things that other people were saying. I have not been in a workshop where anyone has ever said anything useful. Unless it was something good someone said about one of my poems. That still counts.
On a recent Saturday afternoon when I was in a bad, bad gloomy mood: instead of diving into one of the 3 new books of poetry I bought at Pegasus and writing various sorts of super-serious book reviews and sending them off to serious literary magazines (possibly laboring under the perhaps false assumption that if I publish a book review somewhere, I have a better chance of someone actually consenting to read my poetry before the inevitable rejection slip) I took a 3 1/2 hour nap with my adorable cat, Gerard Butler, and got on the Who the F*ck is Selma train again. How many more stops can I make on that train before I get to the end of the line? Don't worry, I'm sure we'll find out together.
(Anyone who can figure out why my roommate is talking on the phone so goddamn loud right this very moment should let me know pronto. I'll be checking the comments field every 5 minutes for your ideas.)
Worst of all, I recently deleted all of the Kurosawa films from my Netflix queue and replaced them with movies like "Phantom of the Opera," "Blades of Glory," and "Druids." We all know how I feel about Vercingetorix! I did not regret my choice.
2 comments:
people have to talk loudly on telephones because they are so far away from each other.
No, there is a conspiracy to annoy me.
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