Solstice

It's late. There are a million and three other things I should be doing (like sleeping or having sex or cleaning the bathroom or watching a really intriguing foreign film) but those require a quiet mind, a cute boy, some Lysol and a cigarette...none of which I currently have in my apartment. I sat down at my computer hoping to be struck over the head by fate, blessed by one of the muses, or at least receive a potty mouthed instant message from my little sister. Alas, here I am, doing time in the blogging world.

It's been a long week. I know people say that all the time. I've been to divorce court, climbed around the (very scary) basement of a 207 year old farmhouse looking for evidence of rot, had a mini heart attack when I literally dumped a cup of coffee into my laptop, just saw the hideously expensive champagne (it's really pale brown...) bridesmaid dress I have to purchase, and collected 70 high school writing portfolios which need to be graded in the next week. I think I'm channelling Sylvia Plath or Anne Sexton.

But there are tulips on my kitchen table. Sea glass from Nantasket Beach lay on my desk. I fell asleep happy last night and woke up to the smell of coffee wafting through his house. And I know...there is a poem in there somewhere.