In case you missed the online hoopla, today was No Tell Motel's last day of publication. We closed out our 7+ years with a week of Jill Alexander Essbaum. I greatly appreciate the lovely comments from folks about the magazine's run. It means a great deal for the work to be acknowledged. Last week J.P. Dancing Bear interviewed me on WKUP where I discuseed closing No Tell Motel as well as my own poems. You can listen to the podcast here.
I envisioned this being a relaxing and joyous time for myself, but I've hardly had much time to revel. I am completely consumed by non-poetry events (for one, we're in the middle of selling our townhouse which has not gone as smoothly as we hoped, as well as getting ourselves properly set up in our new home, and on and on). I'm grateful that I have one less time-consuming responsibility because otherwise I might crack. I dream a lot about our houses (both the new one and the one we're selling), playing strange versions of Monopoly -- like today I dreamed that I landed on the space that took me to the DSW (designer shoe warehouse) website but am too overwhelmed to make a purchase. And there are references to Medusa and basilisks. It's true, just glancing over (or pondering) some things makes me feel like I'm going to instantly drop dead. I can't tell if these dreams are about real estate or are metaphors for writing or lord knows what else. Some days pretty much anything makes me want to fall over and die.
Speaking of death, in a non-metaphorical way, we recently had to put our 17 year old cat, Darla, to sleep. It was sudden and sort of unexpected, even though, yeah, she was really old. I dream a lot of Darla and also the (dream) dog that I promised G we'll get when he's older and more responsible. In the dream the large dog jumps right through the driver's side window and onto my lap. I instantly like the dog and want to keep it, but I'm worried that I can't handle the responsibility right now. He's here, but I don't feel ready. I take him back to my house to think about it. The house is a mess, there's a party going on, other dogs are running around, there's a pile of kabassi in the sink and all I'm wearing in a swimsuit. I keep asking Chris if we should turn the dog over to the police or if we should keep it. He's noncommittal. It's up to me. Gaaahh!
As I access my (waking) situation, there's not much more I can cut-out/pare down. I spent the last year letting go of what I no longer needed or wanted. Maybe this is as calm as it gets. Maybe it's time I make room for that (dream) dog.
Sorry, G, the (waking) doggie still has to wait a couple years until you're old enough to shovel poop.