I'm going to make this tile floor spotless

Alright, so there's this burning inside of me. It's not a rash or an STD or other illness. Not appendicitis or cancer or something else. I really don't know what it is or what it pertains to. I think it's a good thing but have spent the last few days trying to discover what is it or where it's coming from.

I should know my body well enough. Obviously, I don't. There needs to be some sort of map or diagram to help me figure this out.

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I told a customer at work that I was a writer and they asked enough questions to fill up those buckets maidens took to the well each morning. Three times. I enjoyed that. She asked who my favorite writers were and I gave her a few. Then she asked if I had noticed that Actor's Theatre, the place that my work shares a large, living all over you building with, was sponsoring a play about Wendell Berry's life. I said yes. I plan on seeing it sometime soon. It's based on his poems.

This got me thinking about somebody getting a hold of all the poems I've ever written and turned them into a play about me. Immediately after that, I called a few people and picked their brains. I needed to know if this had any substance. Could it turn into anything special or something that would woo ladies or win me a large trophy or a broach or lapel pin in the shape of a quill or ANYTHING exciting. 

Everyone writes for fanfare and if you're sitting there telling yourself otherwise, you're just full of clam dip.

Supplement. The essential ingredient of clam dip:

No MSG? Madison Square Garden?

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Everyone who reads this blog knowsssssss that it's National Poetry Month, and if you're a good lil' writer, you're scrounging up words from other poems and your online thesaurus and churning out a poem a day. 

Me? Not so much. Maybe 7 poems this month. Although, I have been thinking about poetry a lot more this month. I bought some collections, some chapbooks. I've written poems for people and thought about writing exchanges.

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Speaking of "those things".... Dan Bailey has a book coming out later this year. I mean, seriously? I love Dan Bailey the way somebody loves their meticulously maintained lawn or the couch downstairs with a body print in the cushions.

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This blog is over, I'm going to go hug my girlfriend.