I promise my intention was to go and dance the night away with everyone else. I put on Jen's pretty dress and shoes and got in the car with my friends, fully planning to gorge myself on some beef brisket and salad and then while away the hours doing the cupid shuffle and the wobble with all my classmates.
The first part worked out great. The brisket was some of the best I've had, and there was something about that salad that made me almost get seconds--but I opted for the blueberry cobbler instead. Should have gone for the bread pudding...
And when the dancing started, I followed my friends out on the smaller-than-it-should-be dance floor and got ready to get down.
Ten minutes later I was writing a poem.
How does it always come back to that? No matter what's going on in my life, I can't stay away from writing for more than half a day. It comes back to me like a boomerang.
So instead of immersing myself in the music and the movement and, for at least a few hours, turning my brain off, I sat at the table and mused over verbs and line breaks and ways in which to get my point across without being too blatant. I agonized over the right way to twist the meaning so it would fit in with the theme for the chapbook I'm putting together for class. I forced all my friends to read the poem and tell me what they thought.
Essentially, I turned a night of fun and forgetting into a work zone. Apparently I will be one of those adults who carts her laptop and assignment book with her wherever she goes, just in case something pops up for me to do. I will never be able to turn off the writing.