Depressed about the whole joblessness thing. I mean, I really hated/was burned out by that job, but I didn't want to get fired. Editing jobs are impossible to find around here, so I might have to switch fields. God help me if I have to go back to working in a bookstore, the pay won't even cover childcare. I might as well stay home and raise goats. My landlady would love that. Then I'd be homeless, too! This is my favorite poem by LeRoi Jones.
Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note
(For Kellie Jones, born 16 May 1959)
Lately, I've become accustomed to the way the ground opens up and envelopes me Each time I go out to walk the dog. Or the broad edged silly music the wind Makes when I run for a bus . . .
Things have come to that.
And now, each night I count the stars And each night I get the same number. And when they will not come to be counted, I count the holes they leave.
Nobody sings anymore.
And then last night, I tiptoed up To my daughter's room and heard her Talking to someone, and when I opened The door, there was no one there . . . Only she on her knees, peeking into
Her own clasped hands.