I used to be social. I used to be normal. Now I'm a bit squirrely. I even have a leetle tail. I think maybe my brother's suicide made a dent in my head. Now I walk crooked. Learning how to talk to people again.
Oh, I'm supposed to read Saturday night. Very unsure if I will. The organizer has vetted the poem I wanted to read in consideration of the 'flow' of the evening. And she wants the poets to 'explain' their poems ( something I never do, never). And she doesn't 'understand' an epigraph in one of my poems, it doesn't 'fit' with the rest of the poem. *&$#@*!!!!! Who asked her? I have never been asked to read certain poems and not others. Blech. Argha.
I'm at war with my desire to read to an audience and pissed at the organizer for trying to contain me. Maybe I'll be delivering a baby anyway and it won't matter. Ha!
I told my writing group not to come. Or if they do, they should be loud and rude and throw fruit.