Big?

you ever feel like you have something really big and important to say, or that something of that nature may happen to you, only to discover there is nothing of the sort? that's been me all week. sucks.

i expect something momumental and exciting every time i check my email, or open my mail box. it's not that there's always nothing. but when there's something the ecstacy is entirely to brief. i look around my cube and wonder: what the hell am i doing here? or: this isn't so bad. i should just do some work.

the alternative would be to slack on work and write a poem, except that i am definitely not one who can just sit down and write. it terrifies me, even when i'm bursting to do it (though lately i've been writing roughly a poem or two a week).

terror. guilt. shame. i have no choice. those are the only states of being that motivate me.

i have a google alert set to the word "poetry," just to see what's being said about it online in general. here are some choice cuts:

"Nobody ever has dandruff in poetry. Unless it is a (rare) poem about dandruff"


"It’s not like I’ve studied poetry a great deal, but unless someone can prove me wrong and show me otherwise (I’ve told you that I’m trying to better myself, so feel free to put me right), I’m going to go on thinking that most of what I’ve seen is, well, boring. Unattractive. Pointless. What good is it if it doesn’t even mean anything?...I want my favourite poetry to be like...a girl running freely through a garden, rolling in the soft grass, blonde hair flying about her face, dress twirling as she spins, bees buzzing, sun shining and flowers dancing merrily in the breeze…"

[cue soft focus and sweeping strings]