Dining room with poetry manuscript. This was before things got messy. Eventually, however, I did pull together a paper order of sorts. Today I'll lug the poems into a digital file. Then I'll send it to a friend and he'll tell me what I've done wrong. Constructing a poetry manuscript is a great way to go blind.

Anyway, thank goodness I had a day to myself. I needed all of it . . . the time and the house.

I have no idea what I'll be up to this weekend besides sticking various forks into this pile of poems. The weather is supposed to be glum, and I expect I'll be staring out the window at it. Maybe I'll cook something to entertain myself. Maybe I'll go to a movie. Maybe I'll read about Mary Queen of Scots getting her head chopped off. Or I might skip that part. The tragic murk is getting pretty thick right now. I'm not sure I need any more of it. The morning news is providing plenty of tragic murk already.