A different kind of busy

I have spent all day so far trying to gather/revise poems... leave it to me to not notice the personal note scribbled on an assignment handed back two weeks ago in which my professor requested 18-22 poems of mine! EEK! In the emails that have come and gone today during this process, I'm still unclear as the end goal of all this. I have suspicions, though.

I'm going to have to leave at least an hour early so I can print things off at school. My printer has been packed for two weeks, so I'm really glad I have the ability to print on campus!!!

More later.... hopefully I can squeeze in a tidbit of sewing today!

Monday, funday...

I finally got some good sleep again, despite being up for about half an hour petting Prudence-- did you know dogs can have nightmares? I woke up while she was crying in her sleep from one. My poor puppy woke up when I turned the light on, but continued to cry a little, so I got out of bed and soothed my little girl until she seemed settled down again. It breaks my heart to see her look scared like that from a nightmare. But then we both got back to sleep, and all is well.

Today has an agenda (I hate that). The fun part will be lunch with Jen, and a quick stop to find backing fabric to FINISH some projects this week. I would love to work on finishing tonight, but that's where the agenda is no longer fun... class tonight... :( I wish I were enjoying this class as much as I loved some others. 

For your reading amusement, though, here is the poem of mine that will be workshopped until I want to sew my ears shut to block out the inane comments of some of my classmates (I guarantee they won't get that the ONLY thing this poem is about is quilting and preferring fabric to mean people! I'll try not to laugh this time if they call it a murder or something along those lines again...)

Little Miss Anthrophy

I can run through cotton

full-tilt, whizzing then

winning when

it puts up a fight.

I can push it

and pull it and

squish, stretch, shove it

until it behaves, and then

throw it in a box until

tomorrow if I’m tired, even

leave it under the bed for

weeks, a month, a year.

I can sit in silence stitching,

or listen to the tv, or

kneel on the floor of our

little kitchen running

a rotary blade through layer

after layer, the quilter’s

classic stripping.

I can turn fibers

into art, or into

warm throws to crawl under

or a runner and placemats

for the table we don’t yet have.

I can piece and find peace, my

active meditation, my

happy place, my heaven.

And then, when I am again

around my fellows,

young Americans

wondering why I’m here,

I remember:

there’s a reason I was named

Most Likely to Live In

An Underground Lair.

The "zombies" return

The zombies have returned with a vengeance!!! I woke up at 6:30 with a nose bleed from my darn allergies... It's an awful feeling to wake and realize there is blood all over your face, but this is not the first time. It used to be all-too-often of an occurrence when I was younger.

Enough grossing out news.

Since I'm up, I might as well get to quilting! i may end up making up for the time I'll lose because of class tonight. Or, I may just sew, sew, sew this morning and then take a delightful nap later... that sounds good, too!

I shall leave you with the poem I wrote 2 weeks ago in class from a prompt...

Brief Moment of Panic # 317

I couldn’t find it, broken underfoot, the

thick steel needle snapped still holding thread—

The strap was just too much.

Delicately, tugging pieces out

without snagging the dense weave,

finally freed and sighing, now

the machine ceases to beep but

when I press my foot down

the line is no longer straight, it

was never even made, just broken

when the threads gave. I should have known

but stubbornly I rationalized insanity.

What will Sally think when I show

her what I’ve done? Cut up

pieces only to break the thing

with ambition. I just wanted a satchel,

a catch-all of ideas to carry my extra

words, phrases, and a sweater.