I am a terrible blogger. I never know what to write. The humiliating recess recalls me into a silence. Never knowing what to write kind of means I don't know how to write.

Why does it seem like my bloggings are also so ripe with pent-up self-loathing? We'll consider this the keystone to my inability to fill the white expanse w/ communication.

Dare I reveal my daily musings? Wrought w/ self reflection? I think I'd rather not. I dare to be more macro in my bloggings.

The workshops are just becoming a hassle. I was so stoked to be taking two of them, but then I realized that being the only student in a workshop who genuinely gives a shit about poetry in general becomes quite alienating, and more so aggravating. Why bother commenting on ten poems a week by people who don't give a shit about poetry? How is this benefiting me?

I have at least Michael to thank for his insight and general awesome nature to at least make things a little easier.

I can also thank Jennifer Denrow, Joshua Harmon, and Forklift, OH for providing good reading material as of late. As well as TVP & couscous & really boss hot sauce.

Cycling season is upon us, and soon I'll be riding up to Yellow Springs for camping and hopefully getting embarrassingly drunk in the local tavern and using cycling as a way to pick up on cute girls.