Booked Out

It was one hell of a weekend. It has been one hell of a week. Let's just throw the whole month of April in and call it what it was: insane.  I didn't know I had a book saturation point. A writerly advice tipping over angle. Didn't know there were so many ways to feel both excited to be a writer and then, seconds later, a complete fraud. I marvel at the fact that my day job requires many, many interviews with very important people which I sail right through and yet when faced with anyone who has written anything, I shrivel up and fumble about for words like a third grader. I cringe at unintelligible things that were said. Mostly by me. I worry that I've made the wrong impression. No matter. The fever has now taken hold, my throat is full of nothing good and I can no longer medicate in lieu of sleep. I have so much to say about the book fest, the lovely people I met, the recurring MFA theme that will not let me rest & where my writing will take me this month.  I owe many emails, many thanks, many let's talk more follow-ups.  I've let poetry month slide away without a proper send-off.  I had one planned. All in good time.  For now, I'll rest.  Then return.