Nothing like waking in the middle of the night to a stabbing pain in your nose, stumbling to the bathroom mirror, and discovering that you look like you should be starring in “Carrie.”

‘Tis but a scratch, but curse the cat feet that caused it! Oh well. Drawing attention to my nose draws attention away from the vacuity of my expression. This is a Good Thing.

Okay, so it’s not real, and obviously the algorithm is crazed, but still.

Unfortunately, WEE? Is worth nothing. So I can’t sell ’em both and retire to Toledo. It’s all Gabriel’s fault.

No! Don’t try to defend him!

He excited me, then took the object of my excitement away.

Yes, I understand that his project wasn’t attracting very many users. It is my destiny to love unpopular things that are soon abandoned.

But he is cruel, cruel.

The idea of collaborative poetry is one that interests me. I’m fascinated by ideas of voice and identity, of rewriting and reimagining, of renovation and restoration. Gabriel and I have played around with some collaborative poems, mostly when we’re both bored at work. Because the stakes are low in a team effort, that priggish voice in the back of my noggin never wakes up and bites anyone. Wait. Never wakes up and harangues anyone.

So, Harry pointed to a new toy and took it away. I am a puppy without my squeaky toy. A cat without toes to pounce on. A

But without the wheel.

Right now, WEE is something of a mirror to this blog, which makes a reference to it go well with the photo above. Gabriel and I haven’t really figured out what WEE is going to be. Right now, it’s a spot for less personal or more philosophical ramblings, especially ones where he and I disagree and can muster a debate. In other words, controversy! Woo.

I say formal poetry is inherently easier to write than free verse, and I go into my reasons for saying so here. You are hereby invited to come throw rocks.

In reading this post on wch’s blog, the possibility of fire: fear, I realized something unpleasant about myself.

I write poetry out of fear.

I fear being forgotten. I fear being left behind. I fear losing what skill I’ve got, what friends I’ve got, what reputation I’ve got.

What a lowering way to begin the new year. Happy 2006.

No matter what shade of blue I achieved in my breath-holding, it did no good.

Texas took Kevin Millwood away! Bastards.

Five years. $60 million. Opening day starter.

And cerulean looked so good on me, too.

Before you ask, yes. That is a firefighter’s helmet on my head. And if you look really closely, you can see my totemic items–a pig, an Olympic rabbit mascot, Duck Bunny, Bear Duck, and a handful of monkeys.

And that’s just in the family pictures!

My husband is going to print me a copy of this picture whenever I get around to picking out a frame. It will hang on the wall of my office and make me serene. At least, that’s the plan. Om.

So, we’re back. I can hear the sighs of dismay from here. Cut it out.

I had 378 emails while I was gone. 378. I can only find 1 spam, attempting to sell me CIA L!S. When I first saw it, I thought it was trying to sell me something to do with the CIA. A L!S of enemies, perhaps.

I lost 3 dollars at the slots in Vegas. I know what you’re thinking. Yes, I was awfully profligate. I’m a ramblin’, gamblin’ fool.