Quicksand, NY

There is something very time-warpish about this whole conference-season, spring break hullabaloo. Packing clothes in cases, looking at the miniature cities, networks of highways, roads... and then clouds, sun above clouds, higher up and sitting in packed and packaged air, ascending, descending, knees not touching strangers' knees, elbows vying for armrests.

Poets think differently than rhetors. Or think they do. Creative versus critical, dissertations, wordless exits, margaritas on a patio. Theory versus practice, the questions that make a difference, the debate that rolls.

Then the time warp. Somehow it feels like March just started.

Back to classes today. Have to wash the flavors of break from my palate and buckle down 'till the end. I'm just waiting for the moment when I feel the momentum that must be building somewhere get released and enable me to accomplish ultra-human feats. 

I hope it happens soon.