My poem "Anne Sexton's Ghosts," got accepted in Ink Pot, a quarterly print journal. I'm not much of a poet these days; in fact, this poem (the original version, anyway) was written more than 10 years ago. I'm glad it found a home, however, instead of residing in the dusty folder of old poetry from college. I haven't had as much luck with short stories--gotten a slew of rejections during the past few weeks. Of course, I haven't written a short story since March. I started one over vacation that's gone nowhere, and Friday I began an essay on the power of unions in the sex worker industry, specifically dancers. Maybe something will pan out and free this creative constipation in my head.

At kickboxing last night one of our instructors, Master Frantz, asked me to come Friday to watch a presentation on weight maintenance/body-building vitamins he's selling. Of all the girls (and few guys) that regularly attend kickboxing classes, I'm the only one who's a little meaty. I'm not sure if I should be offended or if I should try it (after two years of regular workouts, I still have a little pauch in front).

Someone on the Randi Rhodes show just likened Bush and Cheney as the "impacted wisdom teeth of our government that need to be pulled." I'm down with it. Some Bush/Cheney 2004 signs have cropped up in some of the windows around Canton. After all that's happened, it's the money, isn't it? Anyone who would vote for Bush/Cheney at this point must just want more f*cking money. Like people in Canton need any f*cking more money. Instead of putting another downpayment on the beamer, dude, how about making sure a soldier in Iraq gets three hot meals a day? (They're down to two.) Oh, I know, I'm such a little socialist who wants to redistribute your wealth to some inner-city clown on welfare with five kids. Hey, you caught me. Glad that college degree wasn't in vain. Sheesh, and I wonder why my blood pressure is high.