I want to thank everyone who listened in to last night's reading. We had a crowd--more than fifty people from all over the place, some strangers to me, many of them very dear . . . not bad, really, for two people who aren't great at hawking their wares. Maybe we sold a couple of books, and maybe we introduced a few people to each other's work, and without a doubt I am taking a deep breath and crossing Nerve-Wracking Event Number 1 off my list.

It's extraordinarily difficult to sit still and be praised. I think that is the hardest thing about these sorts of occasions. I am so glad that people care about my poems, that a poet of Jeannie's stature admires them, but I want to sink into the earth when anyone says so in public. It's so dumb.

I do like reading in public, though. It's an interesting conundrum, being an introvert who is also a performer. I get keyed up beforehand and am wrung out afterward, but the actual act is absorbing and exciting. I've talked to numerous other public performers who have a similar relationship to their shows, perhaps because off-stage preparation often requires deep solitude, hours and years of it.

Anyway, this morning I am tired and little headachy, but that's okay as I don't have any pressing obligations for the day. I'll go for an early walk, I'll work on some class plans, and in the afternoon I'll get into the garden: tear out tired plants, put in some tulip and daffodil bulbs, and maybe my garlic too, if the order arrives today.

Last night, after my reading, I was washing dishes and thinking, This is what it means to be successful. I write poems. I run water. It's as simple as that.