Poetic Catharsis and Being Human

Amazingly I survived today.  I will let those of you weak of heart or mind stop there knowing that I am fine and all will be well.  Wait, no one like that reads my blog :)  Alright then, let us just say that today was not a good day, not fair to mid'lin or even remotely close to fine.  I didn't enjoy it, but then I never do enjoy the days that involve a universal smack on the noggin.  Let us then say that the head is now clear and working again.  I could blame it on the hormones, like not enough thyroid, but truth of the matter?  Life just sucks sometimes.

Those of you who know and care, and happen to read this blog for some reason, understand that I like to try to be strong and intelligent and witty and .... and ... well if you know me I guess this is simply redundant.  This post I don't really care if I am any of the above.  I wrote a poem about my miscarriage ... and losing Selena, and everything pertaining to motherhood.  I openly admit that it is not accessible to the average reader; thus I left it on my poetry blog and not here to depress my other readers and confuse everyone else.   You see I usually try to write poetry that would allow the reader to find meaning for themselves through my words, but in this case I wrote a hardcore "I am an ENGLISH professor" poem filled with allusion that is meant for well read crazy literature people.  I have a friend, let us call him Adam, who writes the most divine verse, except for the fact that unless you have a degree in English you haven't any hope of understanding it.  My dad always thought the point of poetry was to take the mundane and make it beautiful.  To find rapport with my muse  I try to mix what Adam is so good at with what Dad believed... a kind of literate everyman approach.

The whole point of that tirade was to simply say, I didn't follow my usual modis opperandi tonight.  I wrote.  It was visceral, ugly and utterly cathartic.  I am happy to let that out;  I really needed to come to terms with some of the things that have happened in the last three years.  And after a day like today ... a little angst on  a clean white page is a bit of bliss for this tired soul.  Goodnight all.