Poetry in the Post Office

I don't have a lot of time to write these days. Quite frankly, I don't have a whole lot of time for anything. The past three weeks I've been working 6 days a week. With the hour long commute in each direction that means I get home in the evening ready to do nothing in particular. With the introduction of TV and internet back into our house as of Friday, that means I'm one again thankful to erase any thoughts in design heaven, or smother them with images of fanciful food. Perhaps the fact that my house looks more like we're about to move out than in, and the kitchen has yet to be cooked in (except when my parents visited and did the cooking for us a bit ago) makes this guilty pleasure even more pathetic, but also necessary.

So I can't say that I feel like much of a writer at the moment. My novel is still in the hands of reviewers, and I haven't even had the energy to check in with any of them. I'm still getting regular e-mails from self pub outfits, and I'm just stockpiling them in my inbox along with all the ads for high priced gadgets, fabulous home decor (which would no doubt clash with the brown flowered couches that are older than me but still look essentially new), sweet scented soaps, and photo developing services. I keep saying that once I get into a flow I'll have time to start up Czech lessons, get more writing done, start journaling again, and connect with human beings outside of my work environment. But figuring out when normalcy is going to hit, or when I'm going to resign myself to the fact that work and TV are about all I have time for anymore if I want to maintain my sanity, I don't know. Every now and again I ponder those new year's revolutionary ideas, and then I start thinking about finances again and everything else disappears. I certainly did not see this future as we stood in the snow in Marianske Lazne watching Karel's fireworks sparkle dazzlingly in the sky.

In the end, all I can really say is, we have twentieth century poet stamps for sale in the post office, and that makes my little English major heart swell with joy. Sylvia Plath on a stamp. Is there any other word for that than "magical?" I think not.