Finding a Little More Me

Starting when I was an angsty adolescent, and all the way through college, it seemed to me that I "thought" in poetry. That's not really impressive, because my poetry was always of the free verse variety -- it's not like I was speaking in iambic pentameter or anything.

But somewhere along the line, after college, I sort of lost that thought process, and I've spent all the years since alternating between accepting that as something in my past and trying desperately to get it back.

So imagine my surprise when suddenly, this week, little snippets have been coming along. Last night, as I was falling asleep, I was composing a poem, and I kept thinking, "I should get up and write that down." Of course, I didn't, and of course, this morning, I couldn't remember it at all.

But this afternoon, I DID stop and write down a snippet, and damned if it didn't turn into a whole poem -- the first in years.

Granted, it's a very bad poem. But it IS a poem, and it has a little of that voice that I used to have, and that makes me happy. That makes me feel like I've reconnected with an old friend.

Cool.

On Cheating on My Blog

That damn Facebook. I resisted for so long, even after creating my profile, and just recently I've gotten hooked. Now I find myself thinking in Facebook-speak:

Kara Lewis is watching TV.

Kara Lewis is blogging.

Kara Lewis is wondering why she didn't eat some chocolate cake earlier.

Kara Lewis is wishing it was Friday already.

Kara Lewis is ready for bed.

Kara Lewis is going to bed now.

Kara Lewis is really going this time.

You get the idea. Aside from being just generally annoying, such thoughts make me think I am channeling Bob Dole, which is just scary.

On Stupid Book Covers

This past Sunday afternoon I had a rare opportunity to mosey around a bookstore with absolutely nowhere else I was "supposed" to be. Why I picked the worst bookstore in town for that outing, I don't know.

As I usually do, in recent years, anyway, I went to the sci-fi section first. I swear, every time I look around the sci-fi section of a bookstore or library I realize why I resisted my natural sci-fi leanings for so long:

It's the covers. Man, the covers of sci-fi novels suck. There are two kinds. Either a woman in a ren-fair costume with long, flowing hair and a heaving bosom, or a big bunch of spaceship and metal. Both equally embarassing.

On this trip, I was really excited to find a book by Robert Heinlein, since he's one of my favorite classic sci-fi guys, and a lot of his books are out of print. This was a single volume of two new-to-me novellas, one featuring a favorite character from some of his other novels. It seemed like a no-brainer.

But the cover? It featured an idyllic, Utopian landscape, with a man and woman dressed up like Trekkies lounging on the grass (the man in a Thinker-like pose), seemingly in earnest conversation with a short, furry and vaguely humanoid creature. In the background -- a huge spaceship.

Aside from the fact that I kept having to hide the damn cover everywhere I took the book, it totally ruined the reading experience for me. Because wouldn't you know it, I had to read about four fifths of that book before I got to the damn creature, and the whole time, all I could think was, "WHERE IS THE CREATURE?"

Sheesh. I might as well chuck it and read romance novels.

This Catch-Up Sounds Kind of Depressing, But I Swear I'm Not Actually Depressed

Wow, it's been a while since I've been around this blog, hasn't it? I think I have some blog ennui going on. It's a strange combination of running out of blogging ideas, and increasingly wanting to work on other projects . . . oh, and having a migraine every day for the past 12 days.

Yeah, migraines. I watched the season finale of The Medium the other night and was totally jealous of Allison's completely operable and non-malignant brain tumor. Yes, I realize such envy is tempting the fates and all that, but if you've ever had this many migraines in a row, you understand.

I'm busy being a trial widow for what will probably be most of June, while Todd is doing a capital trial in Hardin County. Sam, Penny, and Tom and I are lonely. Tom especially, since he STILL does not in any way consider himself my cat, even though we've lived together now for nearly six years.

Speaking of long relationships, the priest-stalker, who I've been prosecuting for three and a half LONG years, was found incompetent to stand trial last week and is now foot-loose and fancy-free. I have warned my minister that she is not any kind of new church member that we want, should she turn up. Un-Christian of me, I know.

I handled a case today of a woman who refused to regularly take her child to school. I swear, I can handle thugs and drug-dealers and shoplifters all day, but a damn crappy parent just pisses me off. Interestingly enough, it was the only case I've ever done that everyone in the courtroom, defense counsel, law enforcement, and prosecutors alike, felt should be in jail. I guess nobody likes bad parents.

It's 11:00 p.m., and so far, my poor little brain is not writhing around in its shell, trying to escape through my eyeball. I'm going to bed with all my fingers and toes crossed.