alternative we

I wrote letters last night to one Saint Alexander, Ramon, and the person who sent me six zines and something she knitted. I am almost caught up and still owe something to my friend in Finland and the proser in Bishop who sent me two brilliant poems, especially the weird one.

I am feeling totally and completely lost. I spend my days writing letters and writing zines, which is different from the usual of either working full time at jobs or full time parenting. Last night I told my friend A that I'm being a bum, and she said, "Good for you," so at least she approves.

We have our plan to find work and move--nothing's coming of it. Yesterday I wondered if we should just buy another air conditioner and stay here. We need to Talk about it.

If what I am should be called a housewife, then why isn't the house clean? I would have to say that my lifestyle lacks role models. I guess that's why we writers try to cling together.

What happened is that I missed a CBEST session, through my own error, so my work-rhythm has been thrown off, and I always think it's men whose feelings of self-worth are tied up with work, but it looks like mine is too.