even as I type this I am already debating in my head whether or not to type this. I don't want to jinx anything.

then after typing that paragraph I feel I've made too big a deal of it already. Blech.

last night I spent a lot of time finally getting copies of my manuscript together and this morning I sent them out ('out into the universe' my aunt or mother would say).

my mom mentioned when I spoke with her today that these past two days were an excellent time to build things up and release them, a good time to do a project. something about the moon, etc.

guess it's good to have things celestial on one's side.

but I was just about wondering why I suddenly felt, a few weeks ago, that it was time to stop crouching around and just put the document out there to see what would happen.

I completely forget where that motivation came from. What prompt?

and what on earth prompted me to go back to my archive of email to find those few letters of encouragement from my thesis committee? I was afraid to read them. for real. I was afraid to reenter the vocabulary and atmosphere of poetry-writing.

what I found didn't make me cringe really at all.

d mentioned recently that she keeps feeling 24 even though it's more like 26 now. i've been having that same difficulty in updating my chronos.

much of the time i wish i was still working at the beehive, or staying up all night, or studying. and of course i hated it while i was in the thick of it (maybe there's a lesson for me in appreciating the present).

do i miss gradschool or do i miss the potential for structure and achievement and glory. maybe i don't know how to achieve outside the realm of academics. maybe it is a problem of trying to quantify the leaps i've made emotionally or fiscally. maybe this manuscript submission is a step backward- an attempt to reclaim the only kind of prestige i can recognize as valid.

or maybe this is just being 26 and not wanting to act all guisewhite about it.

gross.

with the least expectations i can possibly manage- those envelopes are headed towards their respective potential dead-ends.

but damn it feels good to get them off my study floor.