(passes erika lemon bread) hard computer weekend?

Yep...big technical problem...seems that the techie got it though. Maybe this week, I'll send what I've got as far as "crip noir"ETA: My tag is funny in this thread. But that is what happens when you e-mail your friend the editor at 7:30 AM.

Dudesse, you are the noirest crip in all the land, and you know it.

Of course I'll beta anything you like.

X-posting here seems to be the thing to do, so here goes...

Challenge #4 [sleep]

You drift, weighted down, every muscle sighing as the bed takes its turn balancing the child within you. Curled on one side, sinking slow, breathing deep, the first puzzle pieces of dreams shifting into place, forming pictures you’re not sure you see. Almost there, boneless now, you let go…and she wakes.

A foot? A fist? The soft cap of her skull? She turns, awake now, alert. The steady tide has slowed to a memory of movement as you lie still, eyes closed, imagining the swishing path of her hand to her mouth, the toes curling her foot into a comma.

I'm having so much fun with this. I actually have another memory one I think I'm just going to do in my journal since I didn't post it before the challenge closed.

erika, can I add you to my Friends List?

I actually have another memory one I think I'm just going to do in my journal since I didn't post it before the challenge closed.

I didn't even get a chance to do the memory drabble since my week was so crazy last week.

SLEEP

Running again. Always running. Never fast enough, never gain enough ground. Always a little behind, no matter how fast I go.

Just want to catch-up. Want to be even. I don’t need to win. Second place is fine with me. Second place is better than dead last and no energy.

Running faster. Doesn’t matter.

Up and down and up and down. The road doesn’t change much. A few distractions here and there. Reminders of things. Laundry and groceries and a house that needs cleaning. So much to do.

Just second place.

Why can I never catch up on my sleep?

now I'm trying not to fall asleep

Your mind creeps up on darkness. Your body goes limper and limper. The edge of nothingness. Noise yanks you back; the cat strolling across your belly towards his own pillow breaks the spell.

But the hooks are in, the haziness, the fuzz filling your brain. You lay back down, physically unable to focus on anything. The world seems to continue normally, but a portion of your mind notes quietly that Elvis has no reason to be sitting casually on your dresser, noshing on a cheesburger.

Then, the lightswitch goes off, and the mystery has you. Consenting unconsciousness, willingly abandoned to, the upper thoughts simply gone.

Where does my mind go when my body doesn't know where it is?

Um, yeah, Amy Liz. As long as you don't mind being disappointed by lots of blather about television and such.

I posted this in my livejournal, but I thik I'll post it here, too.

If I am a poet today, it's because of this man: Ted Walker.

Ted was a fine writer, and more importantly (to me at least) an excellent teacher. There is not a thing I know about stringing words and images and syllables together that he, ultimately, didn't teach me. I still regularly quote things he said to me about writing, both in conversation and when I teach.

Ted made me believe in language, and encouraged my tendency to stand up to authority. (You should have seen the look of pride on his face when I told off the Academic Dean in front of a faculty meeting!)

I was Ted's last student--his last writing class at Arundel before retiring was my independent advanced poetry workshop.

I just found out that he passed away a month ago, and there's an ache at that loss now that defies language. Which, of course--as Ted taught me--is the very nature of poetry.

Goodbye, Ted. I've missed you for years, and now I miss you even more.

Another man done gone.

Sigh.