This is April in Vermont.
They say mink may mate outside my window. I can cross my legs in this
raisin-colored chenille chair and rest my head back on a wing, close my
eyes. Who am I? I’ve become someone who
habitually distracts herself and now I’ve brought myself to Vermont Studio Center in Johnson, Vermont, to see if I can break this habit. The print-maker from
Lisbon, Portugal, asked me what kind of trees we were passing in the shuttle from the airport and
I couldn't say. Through busy-ness, I’ve
lost touch with myself as I would a childhood friend. On my bulletin board in
my studio here, someone wrote “Don’t forget to get out of your own way. Let go.” I can feel my worn anxiety shedding like corrugated
sheets of snow off a roof, leaving that jagged fracture line. Writers’ footsteps cross the hallway above my
studio, doors slam, paper jerks its way out of the printer like a wagging
tongue.
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