Even unrhymed sonnets are difficult for me.
You’d laugh. There’s G struggling away with his new responsibilities facing the wall, and there I am right behind him counting syllables on my fingers while trying to follow a thread of content in my fuzzy brain.
I’m writing about Elephants in the Living Room. Some families have those. Until mine got treated, mine was alcoholism. Some, like the lady who gave so much fabric to the AIDS Quilt, didn’t talk to her husband for 30 years. That’s a long time and made such a giant elephant that I still remember it.
My goal here is, in three four line stanzas plus two lines at the end of ten syllables a line, to be coherent. Ha, indeed. My brain has this distressing tendency to wander away hither and yon, and I can’t be that Victorian in so few lines. I rewrote it yesterday, again, and I will rephrase it this morning after the pool. I left it yesterday with a feeling I had a handle on it; I hope this morning I don’t discovery gibberish as I wave my fingers in the air counting….one, two, three…..
- Himself: A new part of our vocabulary: Subrogation. That’s what he’s doing right now. “It’s amazing how fast time goes past,” he says.
- Herself: Late to staff meeting. Oh, embarrassment. A big pile of books on the floor, then one kind man brought in a hundred or so in two car loads. We be books.
- Reading: Watching the Olympics.
- Balance: Finding ways to stay cool. It was 92 at the Discovery shop just over the Point.
- Olympics: http://www.nbcolympics.com/