It's been getting darker earlier and earlier here, and this is the way I can tell that it's getting to be fall. The bite in the air after dark is another indication. I find my toes wet with the dew that seeps through my shoes more often than not when I'm walking around campus at night, and that's the one thing that reminds me of the summer in Jersey. There are so many small moments from the past few months that were baptized in the grass's condensation. I like paying attention to such things. It reminds me that I am small, and that there is so much to love.
Last night was the first of what I'm sure will be many great meetings of Slam Collective. Rachel's feature was absolutely fantastic, not only because of her stellar poetry (which really just goes without saying), but because her ten-month-old daughter Clementine couldn't get enough of the mic. I can't help but laugh when I try to imagine what she'll be like when she grows up, if her fascination with her own amplified voice will turn into a love for slam or some kind of musical career. Anyway, Rachel is such a sweetheart and wrote when she signed my chapbook "I am a Mexican & I loved your poem. I mean hair. I'm kidding. Let's kiss. <3 Rachel". I came back from having a cigarette and gave her a big kiss on the cheek and had an infinitely better night knowing someone I respect so much as an artist gave me a compliment.
Later on I somehow ended up having chai tea and pretzel sticks with the majority of the Public Safety officers, followed by a very enjoyable evening in with James watching Juno again for the first time since last spring. He went back to his room and I fell asleep to the menu screen at about three or four in the morning. And today, I drove Rachel to the train, but not before Sean and I introduced her to Ryan Adams by way of his cover of "Wonderwall", a song that haunted her for the remainder of the time we spent together, on the platform of the most quaint small-town Amtrak station I have ever seen, replete with a wooden platform.
Tonight is my first fiction workshop class of the semester, and I could not be more excited. I have no appetite. I have no desire to move or speak or do anything until class. And after that magic, I will come home to Ramen and snuggling and hopefully High Fidelity, if my computer decides not to eat my DVDs again.