of being awake.--Rumi.
(Here are some pictures of a walk through my neighborhood.)
In the end, I wrote 31 poems. The last word in the last one was Yum and that’s how I feel about April 2011. It felt like four months worth of month. It was the best writing month in the best writing year of my life. It changed me in some ways that can’t even be put into words, and for me, that’s really saying something, since I’ve never met a feeling I couldn’t over-articulate. But yes, I’m a new woman, and there’s so much in my heart that it’s hard to type.
I feel like my 31 poems made me some progress, but it wasn’t easy—for a few weeks, I kept having the same dream: I’d write something, post it, worry about it, then get in some kind of trouble, the same dream over and over, but I kept on posting and pushing and taking risks. I did get in some little trouble here and there, but it seems like it’ll all work out.
The risks I took opened my heart so ridiculously much that sometimes I don’t know what to do with myself. I wish the word “Twitterpated” weren’t ruined and I’m glad the word “smitten” isn’t—that’s what I am. Artistically smitten. My notebooks have spring fever, and so do my paintbrushes.
And as much as the wisteria and the lilacs and the new Mountain Goats album and some other things are making me all fizzy at the moment, May will require me to be in a little more of a grounded state. I hope at least my brain will stop effervescing enough so that I can read prose again, and get a good grade on my linear math final tomorrow, and then there are these 31 poems to be submitted…
Anyway, Virgo-y though I may try to be, here are some ways I want to make the rest of the year more like April:
- Be brazen, keep pushing outwards and letting my silly mess of a heart open up all over the place.
- How about if I commit to writing a new poem each week? (In addition to horoscopes and Scrabble poems…) But maybe not posting it. Maybe posting it on the bulletin board by my chair.
- Keep sending my friends a million love notes, even if they’re not stashed in the comment section underneath poems. Because I plan to continue feeling like this: