Last night I dreamed that my house was so full of people that I couldn't prep for my reading. Also, my next-door neighbor's house had turned into a milk factory (whatever that is). It was pleasant to wake up to see the big moon rising over her non-milk-factory roof and be reassured that I'll have plenty of time alone today, before the bustle begins.

This morning, after my walk, I'll work on a reading list for tonight's book launch, and I'll take a stab at recording myself reading a poem for my friend Tina Cane's video project "Poetry Is Bread." And then I'm going to clean toilets. Classic.

Yesterday morning I worked on plans for the Zoom class I'll be teaching for the Maine poet laureate's statewide epistolary-poetry project. On October 26 I'll be leading a two-hour session for educators on how to introduce the notion of epistolary poems to students. But yesterday evening, well after I'd finished my plans, I got an email from Julia (the poet laureate) telling me that the the education departments at the various state prisons, both juvenile and adult, had committed to sending at least one staff member each to my workshop. This was surprising news but also exciting as I've long been interested in working with prison-education programs . . . somehow it's just never happened. Now I need to go back and rethink the syllabus and make sure it feels suitable for this newly broad group of attendees.

But mostly today I've just got to keep my nerves in check, and housework will help, a walk will help, a fire in the wood stove and cups of ginger tea--the distractions of daily comfort and obligation. I've got a friend coming down from Bangor for the reading, so that's exciting. I got a call from my publisher last night saying that book orders had come in after Monday's virtual launch, so that's great too. And tomorrow morning I'll wake up feeling (I hope) exquisitely calm.