which way did that truck go?

It's that season once again, and I've been hit.

Everything has started up - choir, poetry class, writers' workshops, board meetings and who knows what else I'm forgetting about.

I have to prepare a couple of poems for this Thursday evening and have something on the sidelines [likely the same stuff] for Sunday afternoon in case the opportunity presents itself to have work reviewed.

I've got pieces that I've been working on, but I'm not sure that I'm ready and willing to offer any of it up for critique. I'm still thinking 'what the hell was I thinking, exactly?', and I hardly need that sentiment reiterated by the masses. [okay, none of the masses that I've had the pleasure of workshopping with would actually say that ... not outloud, anyway.] I mean, it all made sense when I wrote it...

Really.

But, that's what my lunch hours are for: editing poems, listening to choir midis and reading draft documents. Now that the season's turning for the wet, dark and dreary, it's good that everything's started up again.