You’re allowed to wait for Hank Green to join the “Come on Superman” video trend. (Surely he will?) But Word Raccoon says she doesn’t want to say the “stupid line.” (Although do we know what it even is?)

She’s thinking, though. She’s thinking. What is it that she is known for saying repeatedly?

Maybe this: You’re allowed.

You’re allowed, she says, to decide what that means. 

You’re allowed to stay unfinished until you recognize yourself in it. (It, the work. It, life.)

Here are some other things she finds heartening on this winter’s day, the day she decided that since she hasn’t used her Happy Light for a few years now, it’s safe to donate it. 

Hearing from a literary journal I’ve admired for years that a poem made it very far into the room; it was an almost. One of those dream journals writers whisper about. WR took it in stride, but I’m officially shooketh. And gratified.

Also this: Hank Green has an opinion about the best couplet ever. While I can’t say I agree, it’s amusing to watch him have his (always) strong opinion. And while he might call himself a science guy, he has also written two entertaining novels, one that had me waving someone away while I finished reading a scene. 

His opinion re: the couplet:

I read both of his novels back to back during a self-declared “I’m not doing shit” weekend the May after we lost Tammy not quite two years ago. I hadn’t had time to rest or grieve, and I needed to do both. 

I also signed up for MasterClass that weekend and watched Neil deGrasse Tyson’s entire class, followed by Amy Tan’s, and kept going. Reading, watching, resting. Letting other people think for a while. 

As for WR, here is her running list of lines, ideas, fragments she is absolutely going to write poems about, around, or inside of soon:

• The title of this post. Obviously.
• Tattoos while you wait. From the name of a shop on a show my hair stylist told me about, Run Away.
• You’re allowed to play with the puppet. (Yes, someone actually said that to me. With lines like that handed to me, how could I not be a poet nowadays?)
• Apple TV shows H/Jack, Shrinking, Pluribus, and my favorite, Platonic. It’s about two friends who bring out the worst in one another, and yet I cannot look away. Self-destruction of the highest order. 
• Tombstone recipes?? Compiled in a book?? Yes, please. 

On winter days with strong white light, this is the kind of contentment that should be written about.

Hall closets should also be cleaned out. Especially the ones you’ve been dreading. You’re liable to find (that’s a Southern turn of phrase, isn’t it? Tee hee) things you forgot were in there (a roll of lemon wall border that may or may not end up gracing the kitchen) and things you have no idea why you still have (a deflated, pink-striped volleyball). 

In progress, duckies.

It’s allowed.