confession: i’ve spent hours in waiting rooms at doctors’ offices and labs in the past few weeks. i write waiting poems in waiting rooms. i write character sketch poems of others sharing the wait and the room with me. i write love poems to you that i’ll never send out for publication.
confession part two from above: i don’t send any poems out for publication. not yet, anyway. not since i won a contest fifteen years ago.
confession: i have other writer friends, published writer friends, poet friends, published poet friends, a couple externally validated successful published writer friends. they’re all motivated to publish (or send their work out for publication) for different individual-specific reasons. i’m not motivated to publish. i’m only in the baby-bird-chirping-weeks-away-from-flying motivation stage to edit my work. but the editing impulse might grow feathers on wings that belong to a hawk. the publishing impulse to glide high and dive into the world might follow. y’all will be the first to know.
confession: those who have known me a long time know the dark hole that is my birthday. my birthday is an abuse anniversary and decades of therapy have yet to clear the ugh-ness around that day. wizard’s birthday is the day before mine and often the best day of our year. last june i requested of him that we skip our birthdays this year. the weekend before our birthdays i was hospitalized in austin and he was in bed with a feverish flu in philadelphia. the upside of that arrangement was that my compromised immune system would have been a dangerous combination with his flu. this past weekend (during our actual birthdays) we prioritized napping over celebrating. now that our birthdays are days past, we’ve revised our plans this year as a postponed celebration this coming weekend with a family trip (including papi) to see the fall colors in the poconos mountains. austin has beautiful spring. philadelphia has gorgeous autumn. i honor the seasons in both of my homes. (p.s. philadelphia has given me a new respect for the upcoming winter.)
confession: dude, big-time-no-brainer-but-i-had-forgotten first aid tipàuse antibiotic ointment and a bandage on all open sores to cut healing time in half. (this tip will be obvious to some. i’m not talking to the ones who already ointment and bandage their wounds; i’m talking to the rest of y’all.)
confession: conversation overhead in my house…
“you call your wife ‘dude’?”
“yeah, what else would i call her?”
confession: i used to call my wife “dude.”
confession: to all the people who know and use “dude” as a gender neutral term, i thank you.