Onward (through the fog)

--was the favorite phrase of a man I dated briefly in my twenties, just as I came out to my parents. Bruce was older (which meant, to me then, that he was over 30), an ex-Marine, who called me his puppy and wanted me to move with him to a farm he owned in upstate New York. We didn't last long: puppy wanted to sniff around some more.

My cold is waning, though I didn't get much accomplished these past three days. But at least the brunt of the misery occurred over the weekend: it would have sucked to teach my morning classes with constant nose-dribble. Now that I'm up and about, Randy is taking his turn with it. He slept downstairs last night so his coughing wouldn't wake me, and came up to bed at six.

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Organizing my teaching notes. Playing the Indigo Girls--All That We Let In--my favorite songs are "Cordova" and "Come On Home."

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Teaching Ben Grossberg's chapbook, The Auctioneer Bangs His Gavel, in both my classes this week. Next week he's making a campus visit; I'm really looking forward to that.

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I'll be reading a few poems this Saturday, 9/23, with a few local Common Wealth poets at the Susquehanna River Basin Conference here at Bucknell.

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Matthew Zapruder is giving a Writers at Work talk here on campus this Friday, 9/22, from 12-1 at the Writing Center, hot on the heels of the Wave Books Poetry Bus Tour stopover.

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Off to teach--