I saw a graffiti artist working on a cement wall the other day, and it struck me that it was the first time I'd actually seen someone "tagging" something. He was an average, nondescript guy -- probably mid-20's, white, average build, wearing a hoodie, and working on something I'm definitely going to go back and see. I thought about him all the way into work, knowing full well he was so overwhelmed with the urge to create that he just had to tag that wall. His art was bursting out of him with each creative angle of his can of spray paint. I used to know what that was like. There would be times at dinner with friends, or driving down the street, when a poem would just pop into my head ... and I'd frantically try to find something to scribble at least a couple lines on ... something to refer to later when I was ready to really write the damn thing. That hasn't happened to me for a while. Of course, there are many things going on in my life that might be contributors to this ... but I wish the muse would strike again soon. I miss it.

We drove out to the lot yesterday, and boy howdy -- they've got the entire place framed!! At first, I was looking at the wrong lot and was sure nothing had been done. Then Tony gently pointed out that we were two lots down ... and my gaze was greeted with a fully framed house. We took a quick walking tour and it made me all warm inside. I can't wait to move in.

My trip to Miami with Ms. Mary Jo was fantastic. I learned so much from her during our campus visits ... she's truly a trove of knowledge, and so easy to watch in action. We managed to score two new adoptions while we were at Miami Dade College, and that was a nice feather in my cap. One is a completely original manuscript about dreams and how to guide yourself into dreaming "positively." As new-agey as it sounds, I'm kind of excited to read it. The professor was a very, very interesting woman ... I'm sure she and I would spend hours talking about women in literature and other sometimes heady topics while sharing a couple bottles of wine. Maybe during my next visit...

There are so many positive things about my job, it's unreal that I still find myself somewhat overcome with malaise. I don't think it's just work. I feel pretty mentally exhausted lately. The financials involved with this house overwhelm me if I think about them too much, Tony is horribly unhappy at work (and I wish I could just afford for him to quit), I have 9412 things to do at the office but seldom feel like throwing myself into the task list, my Mom is still struggling with her recovery, Tony gets frustrated at my lack of libido, and ... I could go on and on. But I'm suddenly reminded of my grandma Lottie. When someone would ask her how she was, especially during her very nasty last few months, she'd always reply "I'm fine." When questioned why she wasn't more forthcoming with her ailments, etc., she'd always reply "No one really cares about that. Everyone has their own shit to deal with." And ... she's right, of course. So I'll try to vent less, even though I do look at this crazy blog as a sort of therapy at times. As I've said numerous times -- thank God or Allah or whomever for Xanax. I love that shit.