The ant invasion in my apartment seems to be over save for one ant that appears to have taken permanent residence on my writing desk. Each morning when I come into my office to journal and blog, the ant comes out from a pile of paper and circles around. Often she crawls onto one of my hands and makes its way towards the tip of my fingers as if to see better what I am writing. I always brush the little thing off and watch her. I wonder what she eats.
Last night I ended up at the Walkabout with Cecil. We immediatley stopped walking-about went to the Whistle Stop for adult beverages. I ran into a couple of people who are into my writing, which was really cool but a new thing. The best and strangest part of the evening is that I danced. I love dancing but haven't danced in well over a year. I danced with O, who I wrote a poem for that appears in half life of memory. At 6'4", all in black, shaved head and covered in scars, he is the most intimidating-looking human I know; the stories of his scars are interesting enough to write a hundred stories about.
My discipline seems to have gone the way many things have gone this year, quietly slipping out of my life. I look back to see that my writing this year hasn't been prolific. I've gnawed on some essays and chipped away at the novel. One poem was born. I had a lot of internal things going on. But, I put out the chapbook (with more help from B than I could ever express.) I have had poems in the mail and still do. I've applied for things and forgotten about them. But every day I am a writer. It is closer to me than my name.