The Poetry Bus is back! Actually, despite Paul's and my fantasy about the bus pulling up to the Space Needle fresh from the road and full of unshowered and bewildered poets, they actually came back yesterday. The final pobus reading is tonight, though, at 8pm on the Skyline level of the Space Needle. The lineup is astounding, plus, you get to go up the Needle for only $5. I know I'll be there. I'll probably be gagging from the buffet, but I'll be there.
And, yes, I've been back for almost a month and not writing. This has to do with the new job and The Sickness, which keeps me on the couch crocheting and watching ET (Want details about the big Tomkat wedding? I've got it all!). My friend Jen has encouraged me to share details about what Paul is now calling "the miracle of life" and "my journey to the center of womanhood," so that will all be coming soon. Meantime, the "blossom of my future happiness" has me in a stranglehold. Unfortunately, even thinking that word pops the song into my head. Now it's like a tiny Ted Nugent, fierce from a diet of fresh blood, is stabbing my uterus with its widdy-biddy hunting knife. Yogurt smoothie? Unh-uh. Vomit that, bee-atch.
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