I could write a book. I could write more poetry. I could try to get published. I could knit a sweater, paint a room, learn to cook. Learn a language. Read everything I ever put off. Hello, I'm the woman who found out yesterday that her full-time, salaried job doesn't start in two weeks like she planned. I am hereby unemployed until January.

Aside from the first moment (read: hour) of panic, I am now actually kind of excited. It's very freeing, to have nothing in front of you for five months. The reality of this situation is probably two part time jobs, no time for Jersey, no money for fun, but let's ignore that for now. In my head, I'm going to have the time of my life. sx rx rr. etc. etc. etc.

I'm serious about the poetry, but I learned long ago that you can't force that kind of thing. I wish I had some unbiased criticism, but I am so afraid and this site has become such a ghost town! (coming soon: "histamine.")