My calendar is very full.

Today I

• arose at 7 to take my folks to the airport.
• had croissants at Les Madeleines.
• visited the Whole Foods Food Emporium.
• took a long walk by the Jordan River with my friend, after which I
• found that I had hurt my feet because I was too hasty in leaving the house and didn't have socks on.
• pondered the significance of this lapse in judgement.
• took a shower.
• answered e-mail, took a phone call, got some more poems rejected, ate some leftover spaghetti.
• made lemon madeleines.
• took another phone call, then another one.
• prepared for the Ballets Russes event, culmination of the avant-garde poetry workshop.
• ate several madeleines.
• went to Target and forgot to buy the new Prince recording.
• made copies of my manuscript and mailed it.
• moaned a little.
• did yesterday's crossword puzzle.
• moaned some more and took some ibuprofen.
• went to the event and read some poetry aloud to a small group with elegant taste (clearly).
• came home, watched the Jazz play on the road (translation: torture that should be prohibited by the Geneva Convention).
• waited for young running son to write, probably in vain because I think he got transferred this week.

What do I mean by this recitation of mundane events? Well, first of all, I fear I may never blog again if I don't at least try. Second of all, what this day was like? Ridiculous. I got no writing done. I suppose I could have squeezed some in there amongst the moaning and the ibuprofen, but the moaning felt needful. Necessary. Of great moment. Pressing.

So there you have it. If the Jazz keep on being awful on the road, I may moan some more.