I didn’t hear from the potential employer this week, either. It’s fine. Everything’s crazed right now, so I honestly wasn’t expecting to. I spent most of the week spring cleaning. Correction, I spent part of the week planning how I was going to tackle spring cleaning, and the rest of the week accumulating schedule-cruft that’ll need to be factored into executing the spring cleaning plan.

Yes, I may put the ‘er … hi’ into overthinking.

Speaking of cleaning, I … augh. I should explain. I was one of those annoying teenagers who wrote poetry, but worse: I started when I was in my tweens.

I didn’t willingly call it poetry; grownups did, and I just quickly agreed with them so they felt right enough to change the subject before they could notice my discomfort, or worse, want to talk about what I was actually doing. I was lining up words and gleefully sharing them with the universe because I wanted to boot them and their gluey mood-baggage out of my skull. Out, git, scram, leave me alone, go find someone else to bother.

Since I wasn’t a poet and would never be one, I didn’t feel I had to follow any poetry rules, such as paying attention to syllables.¹

In some ways, I have never grown up. Now and again, I accumulate stacks of words that need to be chucked onto the curb for bagged waste pickup.

Here’s the latest one:

To hide
I undress
To dissemble
I disassemble
To repent
I rebuild
To reveal
I redress

I’m sorry, and I would promise never to do it again, but I’m pretty sure I can’t. I did make a new page to stick all this stuff on, so at least it’ll be out of the way from here on out.

1. Ms. Samford, if you ever stumble across this blog, please accept my apology for resisting learning haiku and cinquain. I did eventually make a begrudging peace with sonnets. ↩︎