I have been sitting here at the bookstore for two hours and there is no finished poem. It's really not the best place for me, and I realized that after only ten minutes of sitting in the sun with my newly purchased five (five?!) dollar journal. Yes, I spent too much on that. I got here and realized I didn't have any paper and decided I needed to invest a few bucks on my experiment. So I bought it half-price. Can you believe someone might have actually paid nine dollars for this? Ugh!!
Anyway, I did jot some notes while trying to tune out the horrific music and pictures on the covers of the books on the shelves in my direct line of vision. Yep, it was the sex section. But you can't get up and go to another table after you've unwrapped your newly purchased journal, uncapped your pen, and un-lid-ded your tea, in order to stir in two packets of brown sugar-in-the-raw. Plus, all the other tables were occupied.
Then I began thinking of a better place to go. The sunshine felt really good and it reminded me that out-of-doors is probably the best place to write poetry. Right? Because composing poetic lines is such a romantic thing to do, it must require a most romantic locale -- atop a deserted hillside in sunny seventy-degree weather. A far cry from this busy little corner. I found myself wishing for the small town I lived in while I was in high school, where I could walk to the church from my house. And the sanctuary was always open and it was the small kind of quiet building you would want to sit in for long spaces of time.
Reality is that it's 30 degrees outside and there is old snow and short yellow grass on all the barren hillsides right now, and I am wearing a skirt. (Because I was tired of layers of bulky winter clothing).
After some more thinking and doodling, and not a little perspiration (turns out the sun is pretty intense after a few moments sitting next to a shadeless window, sipping hot tea), the guy at the table in the shade got up and I moved over noting there was a plug-in next to it. So I took out my laptop and took a break from poeticizing, checked my email and facebook and decided I had some messages to write and other people's blogs to catch up on.
Then my time was nearly up so I spent the rest of it recording this disastrous session just for all of you, wonderful readers. I promise you that I will finish a poem this weekend, and this blog will not continue to be full of posts on why I can't get it done. Maybe it's a piecrust promise -- easily made, easily broken -- but that's all I can give you for now. Wish me luck!