I have busy, but not in the bad sense or self-important sense of the word, but in that good-feeling busy, the kind that satisfies and doesn't cause resentment.
But it's Tuesday and I must be guilty of something, so we better head into the confessional to see my week broken down sin by sin. To the confessional--
I confess I actually like to work. As much as I love lazy days, reading in bed, sleeping in, breakfast in bed, sitting out on our deck and staring at the sky or the moon, there is another part, a more Capricornian part that likes to be productive.
Especially when it's a productive where I'm knocking things off my To Do list one by one.
Don't get me wrong, this isn't busywork, but doing work that feels to fill my "life's work," my goals, my literary heart.
Though I confess, I don't want to overdo it. I'm probably at my limit right now of what I can do without having a nervous breakdown. But I'm happy.
Speaking of nervous breakdowns and happiness, I confess I've had to explain to a couple people who have read my book that I am not sad or unhappy with my life. It's always interesting in what people read into poems, into the speaker, the "I" in the poem. As Marvin Bell says, "I'm not the I in my poems, but I know quite a bit about him..." (or her, as the case may be).
A good friend recently emailed me and said she read my book while waiting for a ferry and that it was a "soulful, funny book." Though I have other friends read it and cry. I am intrigued what each reader is receiving from these poems. If you happen to read my book, please drop me a line and tell me what you received from it. I'm truly fascinated by the responses and learning from them.
On another topic, I'm always amazed how some people care more about being right than kind. I've got to tell you, there's a way to be both.