But First, the Internet

Well, I slept five solid hours, and probably needed more, but with all I have to do today, I couldn't stay in bed. All I have to do is more than any 156-year-old crone can possibly get done, but have to give it a shot.

Jed had some tests yesterday and was feeling a bit goofy, so he decided not to come over today for the Birmingham Arts Journal meeting. He said the tests were OK. He will come over this weekend, and we'll go to Montevallo for the Alabama State Poetry Society meeting, Lord willing.

I had threatened to dress up for the meeting tonight, so yesterday I tried on The Dress, which still had the price tag.

The photo insists on lying sideways. But man, it looks great on, and it isn't too short, which I was afraid it might be. It should have been a couple of sizes smaller; but the sleeves would have been too short. I have unusually long arms for my size, which I guess proves I have a common ancestor with the great apes.

First thing, I have to choose and print a poem to read tonight. Tempted to read "Poof! There Goes Mr. G.," which I wrote in 1955. But no. I need to keep my reputation, such as it is.

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4:40 p.m. Now I'm too tired to take another shower and pull on some clean clothes. But I will anyway. Just hope I don't go to sleep in the meeting.

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9;45 p.m. I'm so tired, it hurts to move my arms. How will I get this dress off?