Reading And Writing

The good thing about becoming busy is that I begin to miss the things I didn't do when I wasn't busy.

I really miss writing poetry. And because my poetry has stunk for the last long while, I realize that I also miss reading poetry. Not for classes, not some assignment, but just reading poetry for the simple pleasure of dipping the tip of my tongue into the thoughts and emotions of a fellow soul (see how poetic that sounded?).

There were times during this summer when I had sat down specifically for the purpose of writing poetry, but what little I managed to cough up belonged with the furballs in the gutter. Since time is one thing I don't have allotted to give to that kind of reading and writing, I am left wishing for those times in Belfast, when I took literature and art classes and reveled in the culture therein.

The other problem is that I work out now. So whenever I feel down (the time when inspiration flows), I work out to feel better rather than just writing. It's healthier for my body, but my mind is kinda getting the crappy end of the deal.

The retirement plan I have that probably won't happen ('cause God will probably wring me out till I'm dry) is to stop somewhere, preferably in Europe, and sit in coffee shops and write poetry while sitting and feeling a place.

Oh to dream.