a descent into poetry insanity |
my muse overtook me last night, in a fiery temper that left my hair in a glorious friz and smelling of smoke and dragon. too much paper, he said, and I agreed— I’ve stolen so many hours running after signatures and jumping through hoops into a flurry of red tape, that I’ll still owe time after I’m six years dead all for a piece of paper that says I am a certified creative writer, with a master’s of fine arts that I could possibly frame and hang on a convenient wall, but more likely would leave in a sturdy envelope, in the back of a filing cabinet, with the paper that proves I graduated before. stop, he said. write. and my fingers itched and my mind was an inferno that left me too full to sleep, too wired to read for my comps, too distracted by writing to waste more time proving I can write. The prompt was documentation. I didn't know what to do with that, until I thought about the paper I've been trying to get signed for the past few weeks--one more major bit (my comps start today at noon-ish and will last until Thursday) and I'll be done. In the mean time, I don't know if I'll be able to steal time to write poetry. sigh. I like writing poetry. I don't like having to waste writing time getting the minutia done for graduation. |