July 2 (Happy Birthday, Sam)

Waiting to go to work, listening to recordings of Gwendolyn Brooks on The Poetry Archive, stitching zines. Sometimes I think I am so hopeful, that my opinion of myself is so elevated, that I cannot help but succeed--or fail miserably. At the same time it is quite likely that I will end up quite averagely.

I want to succeed. I want to write great poems, and I want people to love them. (The two go hand-in-hand.) How will I do it? Even when I ignore the present state of poetry-awareness in the world, I have to worry that I do not have great poems in me.

I've made 8 sales on Etsy. These strangers know nothing about Lizzy Derksen. Have I said anything they will understand anyway? Have I said anything they will recognize as unspoken in their own minds? Will they be back for more?

I don't know, and all of these pressing thoughts have to be put on the back burner until three o'clock.