Homestudy Problems

My husband and I have been trying to see our homestudy since DYFS received it from Robin's Nest in July. We had been stonewalled about coming to DYFS and looking it over.

Our new worker agreed that we should be able to read what was said about us, especially since she doesn't know why we haven't had a match yet.

This past Tuesday, we traveled to Hammonton to read it.

Now that I have read it. I know why I haven't had a match.

It says that my DH and I enjoy several alcohol drinks every weekend.

She also raised questions about how we were REALLY paying our bills as I am a full time graduate student. (DYFS did address this issue before we were licensed and put an addendum about my full assistantship and stipend. But it wasn't filed with my homestudy. So when they sent my homestudy out to OK, OK didn't receive it.)

 

Because I am diabetic, I do not drink at all. The worker that came for our homestudy never asked me about drinking.

My DH drinks infrequently and never to excess.

DYFS workers from regional and the county local have been to my home know what she said was untrue. They keep telling us how wonderful we are, but that doesn't help knowing that we have been misrepresented.

 

DH wants to write to our assemblyman and the head of the Southern Region for DYFS. I don't know how to do it and deal with strictly the facts rather than in emotion.

 

Any advice?

My husband and I have been trying to see our homestudy since DYFS received it from Robin's Nest in July. We had been stonewalled about coming to DYFS and looking it over.

Our new worker agreed that we should be able to read what was said about us, especially since she doesn't know why we haven't had a match yet.

This past Tuesday, we traveled to Hammonton to read it.

Now that I have read it. I know why I haven't had a match.

It says that my DH and I enjoy several alcohol drinks every weekend.

She also raised questions about how we were REALLY paying our bills as I am a full time graduate student. (DYFS did address this issue before we were licensed and put an addendum about my full assistantship and stipend. But it wasn't filed with my homestudy. So when they sent my homestudy out to OK, OK didn't receive it.)

 

Because I am diabetic, I do not drink at all. The worker that came for our homestudy never asked me about drinking.

My DH drinks infrequently and never to excess.

DYFS workers from regional and the county local have been to my home know what she said was untrue. They keep telling us how wonderful we are, but that doesn't help knowing that we have been misrepresented.

 

DH wants to write to our assemblyman and the head of the Southern Region for DYFS. I don't know how to do it and deal with strictly the facts rather than in emotion.

 

Any advice?

You don't know nothing about me

I can't stand it when people second guess me, because they think they've got my number. Guess what? My number is unlisted!
I am so ticked off at this point that I can hardly think. Someone at the University that I have to work with as part of my assistantship had said that she was going to write what I thought was a plum article for my department newsletter. It would involve going to Philadephia and interviewing a young restauranteur at his place and taking pictures. I said okay for her to do it as she is my superior. No problem there. Then she emails me this morning with that she is passing it on to a student worker to do a phone interview. I discuss it with my immediate boss  before replying that we would do the story ourselves.

That sets her off. She emails me to call her, and before I get it she is already on the phone for me to argue that I should give this work study worker an opportunity for publishing credit. If she worked in my department no problem, but she doesn't. Also, I wouldn't give her such an importnat assignment out of the box. I stood firm about what my vision for the article should be, and she said it wasn't worth the trip to Philly and asks to speak to my immediate boss. No problem, I said and handed it over to her.

Her feeling is that to go to Philly would be a job for a professional and she is not willing to pay for a professional. What am I? I can  interview local entrepreneurs and cover local arts events and board of ed meetings for the local paper. I can write for a regional magazine, but I am not a professional?

Reporters I meet from the Camden papers and the Philly papers treat me like a peer, but to University Affairs I am a amateur. She doesn't know me.

I am trying to calm down so I can have a successful meeting  at  DYFS this afternoon. I can't go in there already spitting fire.

I always knew I was a formidable woman!

Take the quiz: "What Historic Woman Are You?"

Eleanor of Acquitaine
One of the first great queens of England, Eleanor was her own woman. She married the French prince at 14, but after six years of marriage and no son, she divorced him and secretly married the younger (and wealthier) heir to the English throne. Her sons were some of the greatest monarchs in English history! You must be tenacious, audacious, and brave if you're like Eleanor. Read more about her: http://www.womeninworldhistory.com/heroine2.html

What's the matter here?

She was an unexpected surprise Friday night. A grieving child betrayed by the very people who were supposed to love and protect her sleeps in the room next door. She leaves in the morning, not to return home, but to another borrowed bed in another house, not a home. If I thought she could ever be ours, we would ask her to stay forever and show her what parental love is supposed to be. I know that it is not her case plan, so I have to let her go now before we allow ourselves to bond to her.

 

I am feeling such anger towards her parents and the system right now. They treat her like property when she is just a little girl with caramel curly hair and a lopsided smile. Wherever she goes, I hope the tooth fairy will find her.

 

Sweet dreams angel, not to be mine.

 

Yeah, that's me these days

Fashion Artist 37% Tastefulness, 70% Originality, 61% Deliberateness, 38% Sexiness

[Flamboyant Original Deliberate Prissy] To you fashion is not what they think up in Paris or New York. You follow only your instincts and taste and, admit it, they are far from conventional. Clothes are one of the methods of expressing your personality and being interesting is even more important than being attractive. You pay attention to compose such outfits that would express you best. You tend to shock and though many appreciate your style and originality not many follow in your footsteps. Perhaps your flamboyant outfits are partly meant to hide some of your insecurity but be that as it may, few pass you on the street without looking back. Good job. The opposite style from yours is Sporty Hottie [Tasteful Conventional Random Sexy]. All the categories: Fashion Enemy Bar Cruiser Kid Next Door Sex Bomb Hippie Kid Fashion Rebel Fashion Artist Catwalk God(ess) Librarian Sporty Hottie Office Master Uptown Girl/ Boy Brainy Student Movie Star Fashionista Glamorous Soul

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 5% on Tastefulness You scored higher than 94% on Originality You scored higher than 66% on Deliberateness You scored higher than 11% on Sexiness

Link: The Fashion Style Test written by mari-e on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

Who am I?

I had a meeting with my favorite professor today to discuss the poetry had given to our class to workshop. I feel like it went horrible because I started treating him like he was my analyst, which is not his job. He was very nice, but I feel awful about it.

 He asked me who are my role models as poets. I wanted to say Sylvia Plath, but decided not to sound so trite and said Charles Bukowski.  He called me on it and  said that I should look toward Sylvia Plath and Rita Dove as my role models. He also told me that should develop a thicker skin towards having my work read, and the only way to do that is to send work out into the world and face rejection. I should embrace the difficult professors as way of learning about the craft and about why I am here.

He also asked me the question I hate. Do I see myself as a writer or as a poet? You can't say both, even if it is the truth. So I said poet, because writing poetry brings me joy and feeds my soul. Writing prose challenges me  and I feel the need to embrace challenge.

So, I am still trying to figure out who I am at 35. 

There are some pains that run so deep that they defy description. You can tell me not to take it personally, but it's my life, our life together that has been impacted. You lie to me  that you did your job, never thinking that I would double check. Now I am a writer at a loss for words for all the rage that has turned my insides to water. 

You have never met me or my husband. You have refused our requests to schedule an appointment, so we remain nothing more than another folder moldering on your desk. Yet, you hold our hopes, our hearts in your grubby hands. How do you sleep?

My astrological advice column

Dear Rob: I need extra special mojo. It's a long story why, but suffice it to say that many threads are very close to getting woven together in a most beautiful way, and I want to make sure it all comes to pass. If you write me a great horoscope this week, I'll give you my piece of the Burning Bush from the monastery of St. Catherine of Siena on Mt. Sinai. I'll let you shake the hand that Mother Teresa touched when she promised to pray for me. I'll bake you a chocolate cake like the one that when I made it for physicist David Bohm, he said it was not illusory (the highest of compliments, coming from him). -Sagittarius on the Brink."
Dear On the Brink: I don't accept bribes, though your extraordinary offer tempts me. Luckily, it's a moot point, because your tribe's cosmic omens are positively sublime right now--even more so if you cultivate an aptitude for ingenious generosity, which you seem to be doing.

Looking for a reason to believe

I received an email from a supervisor in CA concerning the boys. It said that they were sorry to tell me that they had just found out that they were no longer available for matching. I have emailed her back to thank her and the other person I was dealing with their for all their assistance.

I had started looking out of state because someone whom I will not name here from DYFS said that it could take months before I find a match in state because there are only NINE people in Trenton who do the evaluating to make matches for the ENTIRE state. The children of my heart could be around the corner, but I would never know it. They could be spending months in foster care unnecessarilly because of bureaucracy.

So we had decided to take matters in to our own hands and stretch our nets farther afield, only to let our hearts get broken again. We have had our hearts broken time and time again because we want children and can't seem to have any biologically.

When people try to tell me that I don't undertsand something because I am not a mother, I want to eviscerate them. I was at a bridal shower last Saturday and they sat me with Miss Perfect. She had heard from her mother that we were planning to adopt. She said, " You can have mine." I said, " When can I pick them up?" Insensitive biatch.

So if I seem biatchy, I have good reasons.

I am struggling to write an autobiographical essay for one of my classes. The topic is the how and why I am a writer. To do this successfully, I must dig up some painful bones, and leave more than a few drops of blood on the page, and hope the reader understands.

Meanwhile, John spoke to the worker in NJ that will be handling our case from this end. She said that she will accept an email from the boys' worker in CA to order the release of our homestudy. I emailed my contact in the Torrance DCFS to let their worker know (I am not allowed to speak to her directly.). It's been ten days since I first received the email from CA telling me that they were available and send our homestudy to see if we are a match. I am not worried about being a match. What I am worried about is getting the right paperwork to the right people so they can make  decision and that I won't lose them to another family. I find myself falling in love with these boys even though I know I shouldn't and I need to guard my heart. In order to write for school, I have to let down my guard and let the reader inside.

I am in love or just a fool

I find myself looking at the photographs and heart continues to melt. I find myself falling and falling hard, so afraid, so afraid to lose and break my heart again. Still I look into what I hope is my future that lays in the hands of fools, and my chest begins to fill with broken glass as I try not to cry, not to care, not to hope,

 not to love.

 

 

 

 

Something Productive

I am friends with some extremely passionate people who want to make a difference in the world, but they seem to get bogged down in anger. My suggestion is that instead of getting lathered up over things we cannot change focus on doing something positive.
That is why I have signed the One campaign pledge and have added a link to their blog on my website. I am encouraging everyone who reads my blog to be a force for positive change in the world.

The Midnight Disease

For the first time in my life, I am in the company of people who understand me, because we share the midnight disease. The drive to create and to write is hardwired into our psyches, our brains.  If I could never write again, I think I could not continue living. It is who I am. I am seeing the next phase of my life spread out before me as an allegorical buffet, in part that I am no longer an outsider watching people dance through a plate glass window. I have joined the party.

I wish I had the luxury of being in love with idea of love.

Instead, I live with the reality of love every day and every night. I get the dishes and the laundry. The snores that wake me up at night as he lays beside me in our bed. Making coffee every morning even though I don't drink coffee, but he does. I don't get flowers anymore, not that he ever did. The ideal of love never included these things. Maybe they were in the fine print.

 He is the person that I turn to when I am afraid of what may be or what may not be. He understands that it is not the fear of failure that paralyzes my pen, but my fear of success. I don't really mind washing his socks and dirty underwear. It needs to be done and he's tried doing it himself, but he's laundry-impaired.

I wanted a hero, someone larger than life to love me for me. To paraphrase what Rosie O'Donnell's character said in Sleepless in Seattle- 'I wanted to be in love in a Hollywood movie.'

I wanted the fairy tale, the knight errant to sweep me off my feet. Nobody gets the fairy tale. Not even Cinderella and Snow White probably. Did you ever notice they always end the story at the wedding with  they lived happily ever after. What a crock!

Would I trade him now for what had been my ideal? No way!

He loves me more now than the day we met. The mundane things, the everyday things bind us closer together. We take care of each other with our whole hearts, for our whole lives.

 

Sociological Norms at Work

John and I went to luncheon meet and greet organized by FAFS. There were no assigned seats at the tables.

It was interesting to see how people seemed to sort themselves by ethnicity. African Americans only sat with other African Americans. The Hispanics sat together, and invited us, the only Anglos, to sit with them. When other Anglos came later, they joined us at the same table (The tables sat 10.). John was only one of three men there, including the people from the state and contract agencies.

 

I am miffed at one of the women who sat with us. One of the people from the local office was talking to John and myself, saying she knew who we were, she had seen our file, wanted welcome us, and wanted our phone number and address so she could contact us directly to answer a question John raised about waivers.

She handed us a paper to write down our info.  John wrote it down, and  started to hand it back, when this woman from my table asked to see it. She took it and wrote something on it and handed it to the woman from the local office. She had written on it that she wanted to adopt a sibling group with the same profile as what we had told her we were asking for. I wanted to reach across the table and bitch slap her. She told us earlier that she had almost lost her license due to violations. She is already in the process of adopting one child already.

 

I had needed the stroking the woman from local was giving me and this wench stole my joy.

Full Moon

Ever since I have moved here, I have felt isolated creatively from other people like me. I love where I live but for the arts I have always had to go to Philly or NYC to feed my artistic soul. I get nibbles from the Appel Farm in Elmer, but that isn't always enough. This was part of my reasons for taking the classes from Gotham and applying to the Master's program at Rowan.

 

Last night, I received a phone call from a woman whom I had never met inviting me to a woman's group meeting here in town. All she knew about me was that my husband was the new science teacher at her school and my phone number. She teaches art at his school.

 

Apparently, all the women are community minded like me and  are creative like me. I met a classically trained opera mezzo soprano who dabbles in poetry. Her sister, who is also in a the group, is a published poet. The others were artists in one medium or another. The feeling of energy that flowed through the house was intoxicating. Some of the ladies went into another room to beat drums and  play flutes to honor the full moon. I know that is a pagan ritual from a former co worker of my husband's that is a practicing Wiccan. You would think I would have been offended, but I wasn't. All these women live in my town and want to be my friend. We seem to see the world through the same eyes. I can accept them as they first accepted me.

John Made Me Cry

I didn't sleep very well last night. We had planned to go to DYFS this morning here in town to introduce ourselves to the social worker. I don't think anyone has done that before, by the way they reacted. They were extremely nice and gave us a  name and phone who will assist us. Apparently, the adoption unit has not been integrated into my local office yet.

 

Afterwards, John dropped me off at Acme while he went to buy gas. He picked me up later outside. In the van, he gave me a bag from Hallmark  inside was a pink wrapped package. I unwrapped it as he drove. It was a poem and a frame that began Dear Mom,.... I started to cry. John didn't know what to do. He almost pulled over, but he kept on driving.

 

I have wanted to become a mother for so long. Twelve years of disappointment and heartache are about to an end. We just know it.

 

The woman we spoke to at DYFS called us to tell us that she had received an email from the person who had been helping us at the SRO. He had sent out a broadcast email to let everyone know that we were open and our criteria.

 

We'll see what's next...

Oh, Happy Day!

Today was our licensing inspection from the state. We PASSED!

It will take about two weeks from now to get the paperwork saying what he told us.

 I have to say that I have had an easier time dealing with DYFS, than with the subcontractors that they have hired.

 

Everyone I have dealt with on the government level has been professional and polite. I am actually going to write a letter to the supervisor of one the people I have been working with the summer to tell them what a special person they have in him.

 

Now that we eligible, we can seriously start looking!

News or God Bless JJ!

We got the phone call from the Office of Licensing today. They will be coming to see us Monday for our final inspection. This is happening so quickly because of the assistance we received from the social worker who did our PATH training. As soon as the gentleman from Trenton comes on Monday and signs off, we are a licensed adoption home.

 

I could be a mother very soon now. OH MY GOD!!!!!!

Thirteen Years Ago This Morning

Dearest John,

 

Thirteen years ago this morning, you told me you felt the same way.

The equation that expresses how much I love you is still infinity plus one.

I know you still feel the same way.

 

 

Love,

 

K.

 

 

Books, Inq.

Books, Inq.

I love it when it smells like this

I love the briny smell we get here from time to time. It reminds me that I live near salt water. Even with the a/c on tonight I can smell the salty smell creeping up from the marshes (Around here they are called "meadows") that divide the land from the water. I live up the street from the Salem River which is actually a tidal estuary of the Delaware River. We don't flood here, but we get that delicious smell just before it rains.

You scored as Evangelical Holiness/Wesleyan. You are an evangelical in the Wesleyan tradition. You believe that God's grace enables you to choose to believe in him, even though you yourself are totally depraved. The gift of the Holy Spirit gives you assurance of your salvation, and he also enables you to live the life of obedience to which God has called us. You are influenced heavly by John Wesley and the Methodists. Evangelical Holiness/Wesleyan 89% Fundamentalist 71% Reformed Evangelical 54% Roman Catholic 50% Neo orthodox 46% Charismatic/Pentecostal 43% Classical Liberal 21% Modern Liberal 21% Emergent/Postmodern 18% What's your theological worldview? created with QuizFarm.com

I kinda knew that, but just checking....

the Provacateur (73% dark, 26% spontaneous, 44% vulgar)

your humor style: VULGAR | COMPLEX | DARK You'll crack on anything, and you're often witty, even caustic, about it. Therefore, your sense of humor is polarizing. You're transgressive, and you've got a seriously sharp 'edge'--maybe too much for some folks. If they get you, people think you're one of the funniest (and smartest) people in the world. If they don't, they think you're an ass. Whatever, right? While some might question your judgement, your comic intellect is unquestionably respected. PEOPLE LIKE YOU: Chris Rock - Lenny Bruce - George Carlin

My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 99% on dark You scored higher than 0% on spontaneous You scored higher than 50% on vulgar

Link: The 3 Variable Funny Test written by jason_bateman on OkCupid Free Online Dating

The Longest Afternoon of My Life

JJ called us this morning. He had located our homestudy and had a few questions for us. He asked about my graduate school and how the loss of my income would affect the household. He asked about the peeling paint in the dining room that was higher than my head. He asked about what he received from the EB police department about what happened seven years ago. We had been accused of neglect by an anonymous neighbour that the police and adult protective service found groundless. In fact no one had filed a report, just a notation of the call.

 

He was going to run it to his supervisor today and if his supervisor had any concerns they would call this afternoon. If not, JJ was sending our paperwork to Trenton to Office of Licensing, our last hurdle to become  adoptive parents.

 

The minute hand of the kitchen clock staggered like a drunk while the hour hand seemed to be playing catch up as the afternoon limped along. Five o' clock felt like fifty years in the distance. The afternoon passed into evening. The phone was mute.

 

We have passed our homestudy.  We are ready to become parents in the eyes of the state of New Jersey. Now they come to pass our home in the coming week after a final inspection.

 

The past no longer holds me back.  I have escaped it's snares. I was straightforward and honest and have been vindicated.

 

 

WE ARE GOING TO BE PARENTS !!!!!!!!!!!!!

Spamalot or Lunch at Sardi's

On Wednesday, John and I arose early and drove to Camden to take the light rail to Trenton. If you have never taken the River Line before, you should. The view from our car as we glided along the Delaware River reminded once again how beautiful my home state is. We changed to New Jersey Transit in Trenton. Linda and Alex joined us in Princeton Junction.

I didn't tell Linda about the tunnel. If I had told her, she would  have canceled our trip to see Spamalot. She is one of my closest and dearest friends, but all of her phobias make traveling with her like traveling with Adrian Monk. If we didn't "forget" to tell her  about all the things that we know she has fears about, she would never leave her house. So we didn't tell her that the train goes into a tunnel under the Hudson or that we would be taking the subway to Times Square. We neglected to mention that we would be taking a glass elevator to a revolving restaurant 44 stories above Manhattan. Her husband did tell her that we were in the Mezzanine section in the Shubert Theatre. ( Everything in bold is something that has to do with her fear of tunnels, heights, and spinning.)

 

We arrived in Manhattan with time to have a proper lunch before the show.  So we walked the two blocks from the subway to the theatre to look for a restaurant. We found one across from the Shubert, Sardi's.

It was everything it's reputations says it is and more. We were seated right away. The service was excellent and so was the food. They were no more expensive than the restaurants in Philly or NYC. Many years ago an exfriend of our little foursome would call me up in the middle of the night drunk from his bathtub to tell me that I was not good enough to take to The Russian Tea Room ( No longer in exsistence.) or any of the other legendary restaurants in NYC, like Sardi's. It was the way he treated me  and lied to both John and me that made him an ex-friend to me and an ex-best friend to John.

 

John has gone out of his way since we have been together to show me that I am loved and valued. The question isn't whether I am good enough to eat at particular restaurant, but is that restaurant good enough for me?

What I am doing

Insomnia seems to be working for me. I have written more poems in the past week than I have since college. The poetry workshop I have been taking online with Gotham has really helped. It is nice to be a community where I don't have to hide my intellect and no one makes me feel like maggot meat. Since losing my job, I seem to be getting my confidence back. I had been so jealous of one of my single friends and her fabulous life. My life seems so tame. I have been in love with the same man for sixteen years. We have a wonderful life together, but it is rather a domestic love.  He is my best friend with benefits, but there is no drama, no tension that helps the writer write.

 

The problem is that I am a writer and a poet right down to my soul. No one wants to read about characters that lead normal lives. I need to write is part of me.

 

Thirty-five years old and I am still that fat girl, who struggled to not show her brains to much, so the boys would like her. I needed their approval. I still crave approval. That's something I have to work on as I will not a successful writer and poet until I can accept myself.

Coda

Dear Reader,

 

 

I googled him last night. Needless to say, I found him. The song may still retain its power to move me, but the picture of 37 year old guitarist playing for a cover band that is opening for what's left of the Beach Boys in August left me cold. His hair that was golden wheat spilling down his back is still long what is left of it, but far from golden. He seems stylistically trapped in the 80s while he has aged perceptably. Memory glitters in the face of faded reality. I hope he is happy.

Can't Sleep

A memory that I had locked inside my heart close to twenty years ago has risen to the front of my mind by a song. I heard Kathy's Song tonight and I felt a knife slip inside my skin and twist.

I am seventeen again and very much in love with a young man named Tim, who lived in my dorm. He had the face of a Raphaelite angel framed  with a halo of blonde hair that fell past his shoulders. He was a music major that played acoustic guitar and sang a clear tenor that I drank into my soul like water.

 

The first time I heard him play was at a coffeehouse for the Manuscript Society, the literary magazine at Wilkes. I was one of their poets. I heard him play many songs that night, but when he played Kathy's Song, I thought he was singing right to me. At the time, I didn't know that it was not one of his original compositions.

I thought he had written it for me. I was a fool in an impossible love.

 

My love for him was painful. He was the first man I had professed my love to openly and unashamedly, one night in his room as I sat on his bed. He told me that I shouldn't love him. He didn't deserve my love. He told me of his drug addiction and time in rehab. He told me to save my heart for someone worthy of me. I cried and cried that night and tonight.

 

 

 

What's been going on in the world

About twenty five years ago, my mother, who was single at the time, was dating a high school guidance counselor, who turned out to be part of the IRA (which quickly ended the relationship) said to her about terrorism- "It is hate that drives them. Even if you gave them everything they ever wanted for their cause, they would find another cause. The hate inside them is that strong."

 

That's what has been dominating my mind today.

What a week!, part 1

This was supposed to be a quiet week to get work done. Supposed to be.

First, Mom called to tell me that my Uncle Donald had died out in LI, a six plus hour drive from here. She was demanding that I tell her what my plans were before my cousins sent me the details. So, I had a fight with her. I wanted to go the mass, but not the wake. John had planned a mystery date with me that he couldn't reschedule the same time as the wake.

The mystery date was a screening of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in Philly. Wonderful film adaptation of a wonderful book. Restaurant afterward near Fairmont was a disappointment. Next time we'll go back to Rembrandt's. Went home and slept for two hours. The alarm went off at 3:00 am so we could drive to New Brunfus and catch the 5:40 to Penn Station. From Penn, it was the LIRR to Amityville, which was two blocks from the church.

My brother wasn't expecting me, so he spread my truck troubles as that I had stopped to help some guy, not my SIL. I popped his bubble. I am so glad I went. We stopped at Tumulty's on my way back home for a much better and much cheaper dinner.

Interior Monologues

I read the news and try not to think,

Of what might have been.

I look inside instead.

 

I pray

My voice in the winds

Hoping to be heard.

 

I resist the feelings that threaten

to drown me

I will prevail.

 

Barbarians are at the gate

throwing temper tantrums and toxic volleys

Demanding their seats at my table.

 

I must regret

That there is nothing available

Today or any other day.

 

A Quiet Fourth

My DH and I spent the holiday at a picnic at our church family's house. Just didn't feel up to fireworks this year. Too many years shilling water and sodas at my brother's shaved ice stand has just burned me out on this holiday.

Trying something new

I am trying to email my blog entries to update my blog. Let's see how it works.

Working my way through graduate school

I am working for the Center for Innovation and entrepreneurship at Rowan. In return, they pay for my tuition up to nine credits and a tidy stipend. It's the closest I have ever come to being paid for writing.

Getting off the pot

For years, I have kvetched about being a writer who find no time to write. A dabble in my novel for a while and then I drop it for a while.
Now, I am applying for graduate school, for an M.A. in Writing with a concentration in creative writing.
I HAVE to produce now. I simply have no choice.