fierce tides

This morning although I woke up hella congested after not sleeping well, I was somehow more energetic and resolved than I’ve been the past week. Odd because Thursday is such my busy day. And I’m up for workshop, which is always taxing. 

So I’m like la la la, feed cats, make coffee, don’t care if I feel like shit (read: headache, sore throat, dizzy, off-balance, snotty, no appetite). I answered a few emails. Got a rejection from kill author (you don’t know what you’re missing peeps) which made me feel a little grumbly for a sec AND THEN

discovered some more art and writing files that had been lost from my stolen laptop. Now I think I can recover this with some work and digging around on websites, USB drives. But I’m really having a hard time having this incident NOT be a flashpoint for an entire day’s worth of negativity. 

ARRRRRGGGGHHHHHAAAGGGG%^&*$%^&%^&*^&*(!.

I wish I could say I feel better now. Luckily there’s tumblr for this sort of self-absorbed whining. Thanks for reading, invisible audience.

Tuesday’s Journal Submission

… is to Prime Number. This is a nifty online mag wherein they feature several linked poems by 5-ish poets, followed by a Q&A —a brief interview with the poet. It would SO rock to get my work in here.

Amidst this, they are finally installing the home security system. There is a lot of beeping and banging. The kitten is far too interested. The gentleman doing the installation is personable though. It’s cold and blowy out; thus cold in here. I wish I could go to bed now. Just for a little while. I squoze a submission out. Yay me.

Well, I lied.

Early last week I was all like, “Whee, I’m so under control even though someone just robbed our house! I’m back onto my project after eight days as if nothing happened…” Yeah… no. I was back on it for one day and then the rest of the week was spent wondering what the hell I was doing in this world. 

This is a typical response from me whenever anything bad happens. I allow myself [what I perceive that the outer world agrees is] the appropriate amount of feelings, and then I cram the rest back into my brain. 

Understand, I used to have a big problem with being self-destructive and letting my emotions rule me, often to harmful ends. This is the new (actually 13 years old) “recovery me” talking now.

I’m not fine and I’m not under control, and though I love my new, upgraded, expensive-and-paid-for-not-by-me laptop, it’s not the same as the old laptop. It’s faster, but the interface is ever so slightly different and it’s bugging the shit out of me. And I will never get back all my stuff.

So I haven’t been doing much submitting or art. Today I sent out to failbetter. Yay me. AND two people asked me to do readings. One is in April, the other in July. Rock on. Cos I can’t get my sorry ass together to ask someone else if I can read in their series. I write this because my husband told me I should try to enjoy my accomplishments more.

Annnnnd I might go after this one part-time research job even though I’m not supposed to even think about getting a job until the end of the semester. Maybe.

That is all.

Oh those pesky journal subs, mounting the gibbet, etc.

Well, I’m back at it. New laptop, reconstructed most of Lost January. I know I will encounter unrecoverable losses and then I will have meltdowns and stay in bed. But my January work is 90-95% recovered and shit, I am dumb with gratitude.

I forgot to mention a journal or two right around the time we were robbed. I submitted to Blood Lotus —no wait, I told you about that one. I must have. It’s a freaking gorgeous online magazine. Maybe I will post a link. Or just go google Blood Lotus. Go, do it. I have a headache. 

And then decomP on the 31st. I can’t believe I’m back on it in a week. I’m still massively dissociated though, or at least I lapse into it whenever I have to tell people what happened. Fucking fuck. I guess that coping mechanism has served me well in the past and my brain just does it, no choice. Still.

Finally, today’s sub was Mid-American Review. 

I have to say, I love this. I love getting to read as much poetry as I want, every day. I love reading all these journals, so that I feel like I’m right there at the edge of poetry, if that makes sense. I might not be making sense. I really want to go back to bed but I have to go to PT. Ugh, it’s snowing sideways. Maybe I can call off. That makes me feel guilty. But… /whine/ Snow. Bed. etc.

radio silence

So last Tuesday our house got broken into. They rifled through our shit and took my laptop. January has been the most productive month for me since grad school (i.e. aWHILE ago). I’ve managed to reconstruct almost everything from printouts (I used to never print out my work; wastes trees etc) but still. It’s brought the whole 5-subs-a-week project to a halt. Sigh. I keep telling myself it’s just a setback.

… and the last journal sub for this week

is to Cream City Review. Whew; I did it. One day off and I have to start another week. It really freaked me out that a process which is starting to get much easier for me, on the whole, became suddenly so challenging from Tues - Thurs. I kept running into stupid barriers. Like I would research the journal and find stuff of mine that seemed to fit their vibe, and then I’d click on the subs page and the reading period would be from Sept - Dec. Or I would research the journal etc. etc. and they would have a no sim subs policy + an 8 month response time. Come on people! It got so painful to sit in front of computer b/c of back. I start PT for back on Monday. I am nonplussed. 

Is that word one of those like cleave that mean the opposite thing at the same time? I should really look that up. Lazy writer. Lazy.

Why isn’t there a journal called Cleave? I googled cleave magazine and came up with nothing except a youtube video about some chick with huge those-can’t-be-real tits. Boring. Bad pun. No cookie.