it's not you. it's hannah.

here's the thing: she's trying to finish the book. thus, empty promises abound. "i'll blog tonight," she says. "i'll post in the morning," she says. next thing we know, she'll NEVER finish the deck i'm having her build out back. she'll come home mysterious, equipped with new hobbies and hair product. even now, to me, she is only a woman in a white coat on the other side of the ocean. (who did i steal that from...miranda july?)

meanwhile, i'm fielding questions from fourteen year-olds. or, equally maddening answers.

"why write poetry instead of fiction?" i ask.

"because poetry's tons easier," one girl says, earnestly.

my only warning is: if she doesn't blog soon, i'll have to resort to playlists.