I slept in till 6:30 this morning and then (pardon my slowness) I wasted a bit of time enjoying highlights from the Bills game I couldn't watch last night . . . especially the game-winning field goal, followed by a pack of big guys belly-sliding joyously across the snowy field. Lake-effect exuberance! What's not to love?

Yesterday I worked on two new poem drafts, did some dusting, did some grocery shopping, baked sandwich rolls for the holiday, shoveled the sidewalk, etc., etc. This morning I'd like to finish up the dusting, maybe clean the bathrooms, before hunkering down for the afternoon's final chapbook session. Then I'll be off the teaching clock till after the new year.

The two poem drafts I worked on didn't feel too bad yesterday, though I may change my mind when I look at them this morning. I'm relieved to be writing; I'm always relieved to be writing . . . how would I endure myself without my my work? The idea is terrifying.