Baltimore, poetry

You know it’s going to be a good weekend

when you wake up with the Norton staring at you, opened to “Oh, she was perfect past all parallel…” There could be worse things. I read “Church-Going” last night before going to sleep, and for some reason, it sent me wandering over to Byron. Something about the clippedness of it. Maybe I’m finally going to make it through Don Juan. Maybe Larkin has some Byron in him. I don’t know.

Today, going on a morning bagel run–then the composer/lyricist group is meeting at noon, for the last time this semester–then a liquor/party supplies run–then the Interdepartmental Flasker is happening this evening, a co-party between the graduate students of the English and Writing Seminars departments. It is definitely the end of the semester. It is definitely also summer: yesterday was the first uncomfortably muggy and humid day. The sky, right now, out my window, is unbrokenly blue and hot-looking.

I am furniture-sitting a friend’s comfortable, overstuffed striped armchair for the year, and its presence in my room makes me feel like I am an adult. Sure, I don’t own it, but it’s going to be around for awhile. Can’t say fairer, etc.

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