Reading Wallace Steven's "Anecdote of the Jar," "Sunday Morning," and "The Snow Man" with more appreciation than I have in the past.

At a coffee shop in Old Town Arvada. Wondering if and when I will start writing again. I don't have internet access where I'm staying, and I am teaching a lot of classes. My printer is broken too, so maybe working some place like a coffee shop on a few poems at a time and sending them out via online submissions is the way to go. I don't do well with the noise in coffee shops lately. I suppose I will go to the library from now on since it is more quiet.

A friend last night went on a wonderful rant about Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes and demanded to know why she had to endlessly study Eliot and Pound in school. Her arguments were compelling and passionate. Basically, she can't understand why Pound and Eliot are excessively studied. Whereas Plath was labeled as a nut by the Hughes'--- that's what a friend was saying. In grad school, conservative program grad school, the men I studied with defended Hughes and saw him as a victim of feminists everywhere.