Yesterday I got not one, not two, but three vaccines simultaneously: Covid booster, flu, and tetanus. Not surprisingly, I woke up this morning feeling as if my shoulders had been in a fight, but so far I'm not having any other reaction to the cocktail. Still, I'm prepared to collapse onto the couch and groggily stare into ancient episodes of The Mary Tyler Moore Show, should that become necessary.

Saturday, rain in the forecast, no particular plans. I might wrap Christmas presents. I might go to the grocery store. Tom will be out all day, building a display wall for an upcoming photo auction, so I'll be kicking around by myself. I have to teach tomorrow, and I'd like very much not to work today, but we'll see. Work tends to sneak up and throttle me when I least expect it.

I've been reading Colm Toibin's story collection The Empty Family, finishing up Betsy Sholl's As If a Song Could Save You, messing around with a new poem draft. I'm feeling a little inadequate as an artist, but maybe that's just a body full of vaccines talking. Do more, try harder, study, experiment, never rest. You see what I mean about work throttling me when I least expect it?

In parental lore, I am a lazy, sloppy little girl. Lazy and sloppy, lazy and sloppy. This is not the actual story, not the whole story, not the unfolding, aging tale of a life. But it stays with me, like a "My Name Is ___" sticker I forgot to peel off my shirt.