In a hotel, watching morning TV, waiting to give a book talk at a synagogue in Philadelphia. The thought pops into my mind: why am I alive, how many years have I been on Lithium, why can’t I remember the middle of the only poem I had committed to memory? Why is my dress tight? Why am I wearing a dress? Why isn’t my movie screening at the Tribeca Film Festival no matter that I don’t have a movie. Why do I always flood the bathroom?
HOw’s your morning going?
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Betsy Lerner 
So far so good – but it’s only 8:45 a.m. and I haven’t been to Mom’s yet.
Speaking of floods, expecting 4-6 inches of rain between now and tomorrow morning.
I hate wearing raincoats, but I hate worse having to hold an umbrella over my head, thereby making myself into a human version of a walking patio table. Ugh.
Why do my bones ache? Why do I squander time? Why is my sleep disrupted? Why haven’t I made that phone call? Why have I not written anything? Anything! What will I become? Why do I both love and hate Neverland (gorgeous adult camp in Florida where I am ensconced for the long run)? What do I have to say?
Morning coffee was good, however.
Neverland, Florida? Sounds cool, Diane.
“HOw’s your morning going?”
I’m running late. I’ll be back.
It was a good morning. Nothing exploded and no one tried to kill me. I found a litmag that publishes longer stories and I sent them one such on spec. The sun shone in through the living room windows and I sat and read a spell (almost literally — these days, I’m reading ‘The Arabian Nights’). I watched a segment of ‘Muneca Brava’ on Yabla. I hearts me some Muneca Brava, so sassy, and Natalia Oreiro so cute and spunky. I read some news in the morning Tribune and took none of it as seriously as its writers do, but hey, they get paid for it. Then it was off to the voffice (virtual office) to help someone sue somebody over something. And the beat goes on.
I love yr morning, Betsy. I already picked up the backpack I’d left upstate yesterday & had me locked out of my house for a while — luckily a friend was coming into the City! Friends from Woods Hole are here, we’ll have lunch. Then I can settle into organizational work on the HOUSE DIVIDED event at Cooper Union’s Great Hall on Sunday. Where is the poem? Rewrite the middle of your memorized poem.
Finished a paper. Should have invoiced. Instead I took the dogs out. Should write, or clean, or edit the next paper. Maybe coffee.
You need to quit being so hard on yourself.
Sent from my iPhone
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My morning is a day late, as I’m writing. The air is cool, front door open, and the birds are loud. The words are waking up, too. Some sleep late.
My morning?
I did’nt show up here and now I can’t remember . Oh, it was like the morning before and the one coming tomorrow. No end to the excitement around here.