Angela Simione's sweaters. I got it last week but we were waiting to get our vintage wire hanger from Etsy that wouldn't poke through, making holes. The sweater greets you when you walk in. I passionately love it. Next to that on what we perplexingly call the farmer's bureau* a bouquet from the market today, bachelor's buttons and sweet williams, what romantic names. Angela also sent me an Elsie Paroubek drawing, that will go in my office. We are in a state of chaos regarding our triptych of pink silk sculptures/fetuses/monsters that will hang outside the administration building at Naropa. The large one looks like the Abdominable Snowwoman. We're panicked on the rest. Hopefully something fetal - we're running out of silk. Today - eternal wrangling with packing and shipping cos (just realized today that we will have to also ship the things back). I haven't written my talk. I ate popcorn for dinner. My author's website goes live soon, the finale file for Heroines hopefully next week, etc. Gina and Carrie come on Monday, then on Wednesday I'm road-tripping for like six days through the South, doing readings, etc., then when I come back will leave immediately for a day reading in NYC, then a couple days off, then Colorado. Etc. Insanity. And all I'm doing, all I'm doing, instead of writing essays is delineating more and future essays, delineating what I haven't written, what I should write someday. It is almost as if the process of delineation, of separation, is my process, separating books from each other so they don't comingle, make chaos, except that's all I seem to reside in, that state.
*which I got for free except for price of hauling from the proprietress of a vintage shop I used to haunt in Chicago some years ago.