I’ve been holding melancholy at bay the past few days.

First, absolutely first, I miss my Bennington people, my “tribe,” as I think Nick Flynn described it. And the rhythm of those days. The morning stretch, the pounding heart and then the racing thoughts, all day long.

Second, a kind of writing challenge was issued to me, and I’m already in the thick of it, alive in it, alive in the sadness of the material, the capturing of it, the putting it down. Nothing to be done about that, I guess, but push through to the end.

So as not to be a complete downer, I’ll admit to also missing the ready-made cafeteria foods, the fruits, vegetables and salads already washed and cut up, and the inventive tofu entrees. I just don’t know why I have to do my own hunting,  gathering and preparing here in the real world. Would love to figure a way around that.

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