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Sit and Stare

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After a cup of black bean soup and half a tuna salad sandwich at Panera’s with Susan and Nat, I passed through Borders. More customers than the vacuum I normally find there, but still just a single register handling the checkout trickle, versus the four kept busy at B&N, which is where I am now headed.
But B&N has no books on Black Monday, not any I can find. And I don’t feel like asking at the service counter; I’ll just order online when I’m to that point, or visit the library.
And there are no computer books that snag me this time. And they’re rearranging their CD/DVD section, so I spend no more than 2 minutes there; and I breeze past the magazine wall even quicker. But right after I zero in on A Poet’s Guide to Poetry, a seat is vacated, so I settle in for the rest of the hour. I read just enough to decide I’ll add this book to my nightstand, then just sit and stare at the stacks of books.
Back at the house, instead of delving into my new book I turn to my Turco, with some distant vague fog of maybe reaching for what would be only my second stab ever at a sestina, or at least a takeoff on that bitch of a form. It tires me to consider it even semi-seriously, since only this morning I jettisoned a light villanelle before I felt finished with it; and I’ve almost never started off another poem in the very next breath, not since Hollis’ project back in college.
I really should make the attempt to touch base with Hollis again. That might not be as hard on my head as struggling with the sestina, which is already striking out in a different direction than my muse had been drifting.
But not just yet. Right now I need to empty that pool vacuum bag. Then backwash the pool. Then sit and stare at the clouds.
Lindsey and her boyfriend will join us for dinner tonight, together with Nat and Brandon. But I’d get in the way in the kitchen, so I turn the heating pad on for those sore back muscles and work on what’s left of my frap.
I can’t get started on that sestina yet, at least not on Jeanette. Blasted Windows failed to hibernate properly again, so the equipment is way too overheated and needs time to cool down. That’s ok: this next poem’s only been looming there all afternoon, likely won’t even find its first concrete word for another week or so at this rate.
Until dinner is served, I think I’ll just sit and stare at the fire.
bumper sticker [] - adrien

Written by macheide

31 January 2009 at 7:13 pm

Posted in Adrien

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