While I remember...
Got my contributor's copies of NFG Issue #5 last week, which includes my poem "She Tried to Teach Me Poetry." Yet it seems that someone at the magazine believes that the "she" of the title very much failed in her attempts to teach me poetry (something that I would, I admit, rather agree to) because despite the fact that it's a piece that was written, submitted, accepted and paid as a poem, it has been categorized as an "NFG String," a short and somewhat random thing. In other words, they didn't know what else to call it. I find this rather amusing, seeing as the point of the entire thing was about my revelation that people tried to overcategorize and limit anything and everything we wrote, so that we talked about rhyming patterns and syllables but never about words.
Also: if there is ever anything strange and somewhat random that I'd like written on a shirt, it's the last line of that poem. Or string. Or piece. Or whatever you'd like to call it.
All day yesterday I cleaned, and reorganized. I built shelves. (Somehow, despite the fact that I hadn't used it since its last charging not so very long ago, my drill's battery was dead. Isn't that always the way?) I put books on shelves, and moved books, and sorted books, and generally felt happy about the books. I threw away stuff that I should have thrown away literally a year ago. My space isn't perfect yet--and I doubt that it will ever be--but suddenly I feel that I can handle things again. That's important.
And as of this morning, my job has been posted. If you live in or around Toronto and particularly wanted to work at a University Career Centre, then perhaps you could fight me for my job. But I warn you: you'd need to know a lot
about ePortfolios. And unless you have about six weeks in which to do nothing but read all ePortfolio-related documentation, I'm betting I have you beat on that score.