So - whatever it was that attacked me yesterday has seemed to vanish. Perhaps it was the airborne and the zinc I took yesterday. Maybe it was the spicy food I ate. Sleeping for almost 10 hours could possibly help to. Either way, the fuzziness of my body has dissapeared. As a result, I have tackled almost all of my poetry except for a few bits and I still need to make my front cover. I wrote my "manifesto" and I think it's pretty keen. I know I'll have the class workshop my villanelle but I'm not sure what else.

I still need to rewrite my last five pages of the first chapter, but that's proving difficult seeing how I really want to rewrite the whole damn thing. Maybe I can do that either today or tomorrow. I am finding a mental block when it comes to tackling it. Fear? Perhaps. I am reminded of this story I read when I was little about a navaho family. The grandmother was weaving a blanket and told the young girl that when the blanket was finished she (the grandmother) would die. So the young girl, every night, would go and remove parts of the blanket that the grandmother had woven. I remember that there was this big talk between the two about how you can't stop these things but I don't remember how it ended.

Somehow, I feel that when I finish this novel, a part of me will have died. I don't know how to explain it but it's there, lurking in the back of my head. Damn inner censors.

Also - my genre bending presentation is buried deep in my head but I have yet to practice it, outline it, write it out. I have a horrible fear I'm going to try to wing it in front of a group of strangers AND THAT WOULD BE BAD.

My mom sent me this comic today. Do you think I could use that excuse at New College?