I am sick (again.) It seems I might be allergic to Minnesota or airplanes or all the stresses that await me when I open my door. In some ways it is good to be home and in other ways I opened my door this morning and wanted to go for a walk in the woods, have my brother’s black lab puppy lick my face, hear the girls outside with their cousins on the trampoline higher, higher.

Though it was good to have coffee this morning and open my Poets and Writers. A huge congratulations to Victoria Chang for being named one of the 18 poets which made their mark in 2005; I think they missed a couple: Illya Kaminsky, G.C. Waldrep and I think Catherine Barnett’s first book was wonderful.

I was amazed I read only four of the books mentioned. It fact I'm quite pissed about it, if someone is going to make a debut I’d like to be in the room. I am throwing out this idea b/c reading is a hell of a lot more fun then doing ten days of laundry today. Oh and my favorite comment about my writing from my ever opinionated relatives.

Aunt: I really hated your poem “The Butcher’s Daughter”
Me: (thinking WTF)…Really?
Aunt: You can almost see the little girl holding the bucket and being horrified.
Me: Well I think that was the point of the poem.
Aunt: Oh, well I think you should get another point.