Thank goodness there's nowhere I have to go this morning.  I was so keyed up post-reading that my brain wouldn't settle down and I got hardly any sleep. But even though I feel wretched in the present moment, I am very happy about how the evening went. It was purely lovely, not a hitch in sight . . . a full house for the little store (20 people, 25?), lots of affectionate community among my writing friends, and some surprise appearances by old Harmony friends, a few other interested listener-acquaintances, even a couple of complete strangers. It really couldn't have gone better: I felt embraced and energized, and I loved how the program started--with three good poets each reading one of my poems and one of theirs, and then a sweet, very personal intro from another good poet--all this before I even began. Throughout the evening, the atmosphere remained low-key, congenial, attentive. It was a really, really good night.

So that's behind me now: the week of book launching is over, and I have three days off before I hit the road for Monson on Monday. Clearly I am not cut out to run for president or be a touring musician. After a single week of minor publicity, I feel like I've been flattened by a panel truck. But I'm glad it happened, and that I got through it, and that people seem to like the collection, and that people I care about showed up and helped out . . . also, that I didn't disappoint the bookstore: they did sell some books.

And now back to regular life. It's trash day, it's garlic-planting day, it's try-to-catch-up-on-sleep day as T and I are going to meet friends for dinner and I should be awake for that.

Thank you all for suffering through the tales of my book-launch angst. You have been patient, and I promise to talk about something else tomorrow.