Oh man, this week has been a whirlwind!
Classes have started, I’ve moved (sort of), and the Euclid Street Shop is now an official business registered with my city, county, and state. This basically means I’ve spent the last couple days running around town buying art supplies, turning in paperwork, and taking care of a million other errands. I feel like I’ve spent every waking moment trying to cross things off my to-do list.
Strangely, I’m happy. I know that’s such a cliche, that being busy makes you happier, but I always thought I was personally immune to that. I was always like, um no, I’d rather sit on the couch and watch TV all day, thanks. But now here I am. And maybe I’m beginning to understand another cliche: that being busy with what you don’t want to do is the problem, not being busy itself.
I’ll have to reflect more deeply on that another day, perhaps. For now, on to the Bad Poetry!
Pamela August Russell’s poems–which are collected in her book, B is for Bad Poetry—came at me out of nowhere. There I am, scrolling through my Tumblr feed, and BAM, her poems run out in front of me like a suicidal deer in the road.