Last night, at the salon, my phone blurped; I stopped to check it in case it was my kid with emergency kid stuff and the headline TRUMP INDICTED blared forth, and I said to the poets, "HEY! TRUMP INDICTED," and everyone stopped writing and said, "Ooooh," and we fluffed our feathers and harrumphed and laughed and sighed and kicked the table legs and then . . . we went back to writing and we forgot you, you asshole. You did not show up in a single draft. Score one for the rule of art, one for the rule of law, and zero for the rule of monstrous pus-filled cysts.

* * *.

Okay, rant over, and I will return to my usual amiable self. [But, Lordy, that was a satisfying moment last night.]

* * *

I am in a highly good mood this morning as, late yesterday afternoon, I finished the first, and largest, stage of the giant editing project. Though there will be more to do, this was by far the most intense stage, and my workload has instantly become more manageable. Today, for instance: I can work on class planning; I can work on poem and essay drafts; I can keep prepping for the video conversation; I can dust and vacuum . . . and the giant task will not be dangling over me like an Acme-built 1,000-pound anvil.

So today: a long walk with my neighbor. Maybe some gardening before the rain. Writing for the sake of me. Making something or other delicious for dinner. I can't wait.