Entered a chapbook contest this afternoon. I like the title of my manuscript: Practice might be everything.

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Have been a little out of rhythm today. After 7 days with Amy I'm whistling tunelessly and hoping that I can find my way back to whatever it is that I have to do.

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I do miss those highly competitive games of Scrabble with my sister.

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Fragment

I’m not a bundle of nerves.

(I’m aroused and wanting my blanks to be filled, wanting the parentheses that enclose me to fall away.)

I’m not a bundle of qualities either.

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My iPod just segued into the Rolling Stones.

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I think the new Zizek might arrive today. I keep going to the front window looking for the UPS truck.

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It's very humid. A storm's brewing.

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