05.24.2004 - 11:36 a.m.

I have collected my first set of bugbites for the year. I have eaten barbecued chicken. I have had my first arms-and-face sunburn, and my first lukewarm, no shaving, refreshment-only shower. I have exercised three times a week, I have been north to see the cicadas.

I have no idea why I am writing this.

Maybe I am just in one of those moods, one of those places where it feels like everything will be different in a swallow's wingbeat, and I will want to remember this particular feeling of here, now.

Only there is nothing here, now except a desk, two monitors, and the hum of the fan so I am extrapolating, expanding here, now through a week, two, maybe even a month. And I don't know why I'm doing that, either. I wrote a poem today about something that happened at least a year ago, another one of those moments, those times that are the end of something you weren't ready to let go of. And maybe that's what this mood is. Maybe I'm just noticing, collecting, remembering so that no matter what ends tomorrow, I'll at least be able to write its poem.

(Editor's note: As it turns out, I wasn't pregnant.)

-stonebridge

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