Today

I am finishing up my Senior Project which is editing the Literary Journal for this year. As I was doing so and talking to my mother, she asked me what I had submitted to the journal myself. I told her "Two things." as I wanted to avoid the subject of their actual names. "The centre spread and one other." "What are they called?" she asked. "'Hamelin,'" "Is that a poem?" "Yes." "And the other is 'On the Passing of a Young Mother and Her Unborn Child.'"

I don't remember exactly what was said, but she used that strange tone of voice she does when she thinks I'm doing something strange because she doesn't understand my reasoning. She said something about me never having experience that situation and I reminded her of Brittany. Now I am second-guessing the name of the poem.

I didn't take my medicine this morning and I got really shaky and my skin got hot when I wsa talking to her.