I am watching Gilmore Girls and going through my poetry master list.

I’m first of all making sure I actually have Google Docs for each poem, and that I’ve got them categorized: ready to submit, still in drafts, think twice about submitting, published, and ?? for the ones I somehow lost track of. (How the title made it onto the master list without me knowing where the actual poem is, I don’t know. But I suspect those are hiding in my email or on my Notes app.)

You can learn a lot about yourself in this process.
First, the poem count: nearly 350.

How is that possible?

Not sure all of them can really be called poems. As I’ve said before, some are nothing but stubs. 

Then, you start reading and sorting and, if you’re Word Raccoon, you laugh at yourself. You find some poems that are so anemic they might need to be put out of their misery. And then there are others you can’t read at all. Not yet.

Some titles? Completely disconnected from the poem. Vibes only.
Some are so esoteric even I don’t know what I meant.
(I feel like “esoteric” shouldn’t be paired with “so,” but honestly? That’s on brand for me. Like the prefab phrases I’ve let creep into a few of my past blog posts just for the occasional comfort of the cliché. Which makes no sense when I love words, but I suppose they’re language’s junk food. )
 

I’ve made it about a third of the way through the list.
This is necessary. This is interesting. This is sometimes embarrassing.

One of the poem’s titles references Tammy’s passing (my eldest sister). It says “my sister” because she was the only one I’d lost when I wrote it, though now I don’t know if it’s not clear which I was referring to if you don’t know. Keep it as a time capsule or include??

(Sort of) speaking of my youngest sister…
Word Raccoon’s best writing intentions were wrecked the other day after a confirmation. I don’t want to write it out loud. But it’s done. Final.

And through some administrative bullshit, her remains have not been released yet. I cannot tell you what verbal wrath I am about to unleash upon them if this is not resolved and soon. 

WR oscillated between sorrow and fury after hearing.
We were standing in the thrift shop, and she had the lid of a plastic container in her hand, something secondhand and cheap, and it just came apart. That seemed appropriate. 

And also, do these people in this store not vet their offerings? Come on. (That’s WR venting. I understand that these workers are volunteers.)

We are processing.

We are, as mentioned, back to Gilmore Girls.

Last night, Barry and I went out with a couple to celebrate (early) both my birthday and our friend, K’s. Her birthday was a few days ago. They brought me exquisite truffles, which we sliced and ate before dinner (my choice) and the server brought us gorgeous caramel sundaes for the occasion. We laughed all evening. I needed that.

This morning, WR is threatening to eat the to-do list I made for the day.
She says she wants to live in Poetry World instead.

(She’s dozing over the show now. Maybe we shouldn’t have gotten up so early, so?)

We’ll see.
We’ll see.