My Conundrum

Yesterday I heard Darla barfing downstairs in what used to be my writing studio, but is now a storage space with a fold-out sofa. A little while later I went to clean the mess -- but, couldn't find the mess. Obviously I'm going to keep looking and I expect to eventually find it, but . . . what if I don't find it? Should I warn my friend, David, who'll be visiting this weekend and sleeping down there? I suppose this here might be the warning, he's an occasional reader of this blog, even though he doesn't read it on the screen, but prints it out, I know, how 18th century.

David is coming from Minnesota to hang (haven't seen him since summer of 2004) and attend the first ever Burlesque reading. Having him step in a pile of cat vomit probably isn't the hostess with the mostess thing to do -- especially since I'm relegating him to a storage room to sleep. I'll keep looking.

Just finished a brief essay about my poet crush on Amy Gerstler -- should appear at Beatrice sometime soon, maybe next week.

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Yesterday's mail:

birds for example by Jess Mynes (Carve Editions, #1)
ZING by Christopher Rizzo (Carve Editions, #2)