filler

I am eating a delicious turkey sandwich with a tangerine! I put buffalo sauce on it, which sounds gross but it's very yummy. The orange also is aesthetically pleasing with the fresh green and purple lettuce. (It probably upped the caloric value a bit, though!) Oh well, it's culinary genius.

My weekend plans include:
Christmas Party Un - Dr. Haggerty's
Christmas Part Deux - LSF w/ Dr. Appold
Adventure to La Plata to buy honey from the Amish General store (with Amy)
Study group for Philosophy
Duet w/ Amy at Saint Pauls
Vocal Recital w/ Mathew
and STUDYING HARD CORE FOR FRENCH

I'm excited.

Oh and here is a poem I wrote two years ago.

What should a poet think
of a bird who keeps flying into her
window?

My kitchen claims the scene for
this queer flight of failure.
The bird, aiming to reach the room
will fly without inhibition and soon thereafter
meet the icy sting of window
and shortcoming.

Strange bird, it repeats this same method
like a ritual or religion;
over and over without deterrence,
without affect.

Leaning on my palm, I watch
wondering if I should extol this bird
for persistence or
laugh at its stupidity.

Such instances stick in writers thoughts
and philosophers seek for lessons
as poets hunt for metaphor.
Yet, nothing comes.

However, this queer scene
still seems oddly poetic,
regardless of how irrelevant
or small.
And with such a long absence from the pen,
this dryed up writer thanks the bird
for its metaphor:

even if she hasn’t quite figured it out.