The editing pile has finally appeared on my desk, so this morning I'll start back to work. I know I should be happy about having a regular paying job again, but my three-week stint of being a full-time moon-around-the-house poet was certainly charming.

So for a few hours today I'll be teetering between editing an academic manuscript and coaching Paul through his cooking projects. And then, I hope, I'll be outside raking flowerbeds.

I'm almost finished with The Mayor of Casterbridge, which I'm liking so much on this read. Till now, I've always staunchly clung to Far from the Madding Crowd as my favorite Hardy novel. But I might be beginning to waver a bit: Henchard is such a complicated character, and the evocation of the town feels nearly medieval.

After this, I'm going to turn to the Odyssey, and to Diane Seuss's sonnets. At least I hope I will. The problem with freelancing is that the empty plate becomes the full plate so suddenly, and I begin to doubt my ability to keep up with anything.

One thing I do know: I have to maintain my exercise commitment. I haven't missed a class since December, and I don't want to lose any ground. For whatever reason, it's come to feel really important to have a small span of time every day when my thoughts calm and I think only about the work of my body.