The party at James and Ann Grey's yesterday was, as usual, excellent. It's a congenial group, great food, comfortable locale, and yet I found myself restless mid-party, feeling there was something else I needed to go and do. I guess I am not too good at relaxing, being unused to it anymore. It might also be that I am not exactly myself. I talked to several people about my parents, and find myself still a bit at loose ends, wondering what to do with myself now that the task of taking care of them is over.
Of course I know that I need to prepare the Writing 2 class, read up as fast as I can and order books, so it's not as though there is nothing to do. Maybe I even concocted that task to keep myself busy, though I chose the topic last spring.
I am also troubled by the illustrator not responding to my urgent email, asking her to please complete ONE drawing so I can see what she can do on this subject. I am going to write her again to ask whether she wants to call it quits. I have no idea who to turn to from there.
I got out all my poems on the floor and started trying to categorize and decide what needed work. Lots of things need work. There is also lots I don't want to use at all. But even with that, I think I still have enough for a book.