Pressure Cooker!

writing against the clock (again)

Hello!

For the last few months, I’ve been giving myself some leeway in this space - between getting married and going on a honeymoon and my stepdad being in the hospital and being sick and and and generally feeling like I couldn’t fully function since like August, there didn’t seem to be any reason to add: you have to send your silly little newsletter out by exactly 9 a.m. every Tuesday morning! Because who decided that? Me! And why? Completely random! And it’s just a little space with a little poem and it was never that serious! But also - I kind of think I can write the same poem draft in either a full day or a 20-minute period and the only fluctuation is how often I get distracted by something else. And, for no real reason, I feel guilty when I don’t follow my random rule! It turns out I do need the hard structure, and we’re back to a specific schedule!

So, here I am, starting at 8:07 a.m., trying to remember what I did this week and trying to figure out what about this week feels poetic, when I should be deep into the last-minute work assignment I took on and need to finish by tomorrow evening, but I know I’ll procrastinate worse on that if I also have the idea of needing to write this letter swirling around in my head!

Adam and I went to a Hallmark Christmas market and got to write cards, we went to a Christmas party, we watched a few Christmas movies (why is the Jonas Brother’s Christmas movie actually the best?!?!?!), we had friends over for dinner and they taught me how to play poker (I don’t think I’ll ever be allowed to play real poker because I’m way too invested in being included in the fun and not so invested in worrying about the fact that losing the chips would mean losing money, so!), and we cooked dinners, and talked, and went to an art sale, and went to another tiny little Christmas market right by our apartment and grumbled the whole time because it was too cold, and I’ve threatened to pack up everything we own and move back to LA at least three times, but also it was hot in the building the other day so I opened the balcony door to let in some cold air and it was honestly kind nice, so I think we’ll probably survive winter!

Now, I’m eating chicken-less chicken noodle soup for breakfast and listening to the final chapter of an audiobook, The Ten Year Affair by Erin Somers, and trying to convince myself that I need to bundle up and go outside for a little walk soon. Will that happen? Who knows!

This December is the most Christmas-oriented December I’ve had in a very long time because we simply decided we needed to do a bunch of Christmas stuff, and it’s been so fun! Feels like being a kid again! We’re going to a Christmas walk at an alpaca farm tonight! I have no idea what to expect, but I do know we get to pet the alpacas, so I should be content (even as I freeze)!

Anyway, I have to get to work, so here’s a quick, tiny poem about writing under the pressure of the clock and also about winter cooking and also maybe some other stuff! A draft:

PRESSURE COOKER

how the steam shouts when released
but still comes to a stop

a little like whimsy put in the dark
or a candle already burnt out

like how the heat becomes sterile
in a simple way

even without the soft touch of eyes
strung to backsides of necks

how all of this can be soft sprinkled
like salt as a metaphor for love