There's so much happening in the world. It seems like all I can do is watch and listen from my stupid little cubicle.
Somebody asked me how old I was the other day. I told them, 37. And then I fell into this trance or intense inner session of calculation or a construction of the timeline that led from my high school graduation through my twenties and now almost through my thirties. Finally somebody snapped their fingers or something to bring me back to the conversation. Where did you go?
Yeah. Where did I go?
I've been submitting poems to journals lately. And I'm hearing back too. Rejected. But, whatever.
Hopefully something will shake loose when I start school at UCF this summer. Maybe I can get something published in the journal at UCF, The Florida Review. Maybe I'll just wander the country enrolling in classes at various schools. I'll just keep taking classes there and submitting stuff to their journal until they accept a piece. Then I'll move on to the next college, the next journal.
I'm taking a creative nonfiction class at UCF - if I can get in before the class fills up. I'd like to take some kind of writing class there - - or literature or sociology or . . . there I go . . . that's how I got here - 37 and aimless . . . being such a scatter brain.
Anyway they don't even want me to set foot on campus until I get all my shots! They had a crazy bacterial meningitis scare over there at UCF (maybe I should do the UCF online classes - from the bacteria-free safety of my home). I have to provide proof of vaccinations before they'll even let me do an orientation there.
I should just show up, and right before I walk in the registrar, I'll take a bunch of whip cream and smear it all around my face and start flailing around spazzing and shit. That shit would be funny. Great first impression.