April 7, 2017

Readings yesterday in the Glass House. Local school poets were funny and inventive. My colleagues were. . . I don’t know. . . my mind was somewhere else, and I was fighting massive chest muscle cramps that made it hard to breathe. Got through “YMCA”; people seemed to like it. Fought reading The Awakening for years. My class made me read it, and it is quite good, despite being, thematically, pretty much what I expected. Outside is terrible wind. It’s supposed to get worse as the day goes. My wind chimes are frantic out in the dark garden. Our VP has pulled out of Cantaria because he likes his Sundays and “would rather enjoy them uninterrupted.” Someone must have looked at him sideways; we’re trying to decide whom. People can be such asses. Outstanding, besides poetry and fiction, at the Glass House was the level of hatred aimed at the Boy, who is on sabbatical now and cannot feel it as he ought. All my new planting is seeds, which are not going to be hurt by this inclemency, unless they’re blown right out of the ground.