I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence
And so the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're goin' through

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Saturday is just like Sunday

Well, I'm still up so this is still Saturday. Yeah, yeah, yeah, clocks, international date line, meridian, I don't buy it. It's Saturday damn it.

We blasted through all the critiques today, so tomorrow is going to be a light schedule. Out for brunch, packing and cleaning, making our good-byes, and driving like a madman back to Ohio. At least the trip back should go a little faster as I won't be stuck in rush hour traffic being rerouted off the main highway. Yeah, that was fun.

It was a good group and we the comments were all good, or so it seemed. Everybody seemed to appreciate the feedback, the new perspective on their novels. Good discussions followed. And then good food.

Time for bed, and then tomorrow, we feast! Or something like that. Yeah, I'm tired.

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