i'm on "break," which is that time in the middle of the three hour poetry class when i let the students leave class for snack or the flash drive they left in their dorm room. (you should know, snack inevitably involves some flavor of frozen yogurt mixed with some kind of cereal. it's really sick.) i take the phone to the edge of campus and call hannah:
me: i feel like i have to physically get away sometimes, like calling from my office would be too close.
hannah: i know. i've been thinking about how nice a weekend day care would be.
me: you should join one of those gyms where the have included child care. maybe gold's does it?
like, you could just have an hour a day for yourself. to workout. maybe sit in the sauna.
hannah: huh. you think you'd have to stay there for the hour?
me: hannah! yes.
hannah: no. f*ck that. i need an hour to myself for drinking. for grading papers.
me: you could grade on the bike.
hannah: on the bike? jesus. i'm not like you people. shouldn't you be solving a crossword puzzle while on the elliptical machine, somehow simultaneously making an omelet and breaking up with someone?
me: hate you. can i blog about this?
hannah: no.
me: please? it's funny.
hannah: no. fine.
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That's just the thing: we will never tell you we love you. In fact, we're here only to hold hands across state lines and yell at the world. We're here to try to touch you across this chasm of flown things. Not even that. At most, I will teach you how to make a gin smoothie when there's nothing left in the house. Hannah can teach you several languages and what to do when your car breaks up with you. Thanks for coming out.
The Battlefield Where the Girls Say I Love You
That's just the thing: we will never tell you we love you. In fact, we're here only to hold hands across state lines and yell at the world. We're here to try to touch you across this chasm of flown things. Not even that. At most, I will teach you how to make a gin smoothie when there's nothing left in the house. Hannah can teach you several languages and what to do when your car breaks up with you. Thanks for coming out.
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5 comments:
are you kidding me? i can't run in the gym while they're there. i'd see their reflections in the mirror. they'd be whispering, "Are you done yet? Are you done yet?" (which is what they whisper when I cook, grade, take a shower)
i run in the morning. in the pre-dawn. and die a little each time.
You need a hot tub in your living room. With a grading table that will hold all of the papers, a red pen, a bar liter of bourbon and a glass.
Multitasking is the American way. That's why only non-dark skin people tend to be good at it. I can only do two things at a time: Think about myself and use the bathroom. I think that's good enough...
this comment has nothing to do with posts. like, at all. but i was reading through some earlier posts, because i'm bored out of my mind, and i think to myself "this is a book". you and mamie, actually, more mamie, complain about how writing is slow going. this is like the james wright letters. only more metallic, a twist of david sedaris thrown in. so, when everything seems to draw a blank as far as writing goes, you have something here, regardless if it's not in some big publishing something or other.
thank you, anon. seriously. my poetry's been about as satisfying as sugar free jello lately. and hannah, well, hannah's book is due six months ago. oh, and any time you think to compare anything we've ever done to james wright, please do. it's totally fine. i mean, we're completely fine with that.
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