Billy and I chat over coffee

I feel like I'm trying to carve what I need to say into a desk with a pen cap. It's just one of those days when I can't seem to get my ideas together without making everything more difficult for myself. It's not like the assignment is even that hard--all I have to do is type up a two-page informal paper analyzing two short stories. Not a big deal at all.

I found Billy Collins on the bookshelf before and he commiserated with me. He's brilliant. I wish everyone ascribed meaning to the world like he does. Y'know how people will ask you, "If you could have lunch with one person, dead or alive, who would it be?" I just now realized that my person would be him.

Reasons why I cannot fall asleep:

• after finishing my creative writing, I still have to complete a plate for calligraphy
• I'm so very nervous about my astronomy test on Thursday
• it's finally sinking in that some things in my life have irrevocably changed, and while I'm okay with that, it's still a very weird concept
• now I just keep thinking about what I'd talk to Billy Collins about if he were ever sitting across the table from me

Sigh. I will leave you with this, one of my most favorite lines of all time.

Most of all,
I want to write on your skin
with the tip of my finger,
printing one capital letter at a time
on the sloping vellum of your back.
I want you to guess the message
being written on your flesh
as children do in summer at the beach,
to feel the shape of every letter
being traced upon your body--oh, ideal reader--
to read with your eyes shut tight,
kneeling in the sand, facing the open sea.

Medium, Billy Collins