I overslept an hour this morning and was late to work, but predictably, nobody seemed to notice or care. I was pretty tired the first couple hours, even after my morning cappuccino, but things got interesting later on. It ended up being just me and Store Manager working the store. This is cool because it kept me just busy enough, and because he's a fun guy to work with, and because he's competent, which is a refreshing change from most of my co-minions.

We got a new Starbucks CD in the mail and slapped it on the player, and it turned out to have a lot of Sinatra on it. You may not know this about me, but I've developed a recent obsession with Frank Sinatra. I absolutely adore him. (And Store Manager has the boxed set, which he is going to burn on CDs for me. Isn't that amazingly sweet?)

So there I am, literally dancing around the store, wiping down the tables, singing along with Frank's cover of "I Could Have Danced All Night," making a total fool out of myself in front of our customers. I suddenly was overwhelmed with this feeling of happiness. It's a gorgeous day. Spring is just around the corner. My birthday is coming up. My sister is coming to visit me. I love work, I love school... life is just swell.

I realize that this level of happiness might be bordering on annoyingly nauseating. And I also realize that it's kind of boring. So let's move on.

My informal writing workshop is going well. The three of us are still meeting every week for lunch, gossip and poetry.

My tarot card reading for the year said I had to work on honing my craft. I know this to be true. I tend to write a poem and workshop it, then move on to the next thing. What I should be doing is writing the poem, workshopping it, re-writing it, workshopping it again, and turning out well crafted work.

The way I do it now, my poems tend to sink or swim purely on instinct. Most of my finished work is practically in first draft form. Sometimes this works, but more often, it's detrimental. I never go back and work on my poems. And this means all those "room for improvement" poems just tend to fall by the wayside.

Perhaps I just have a short attention span. Perhaps I'm afraid that the poems will lose their raw spontaneous energy, which is a strength I don't want to lose. I tend to second- and third-guess myself all the time when it comes to revision. So I just write poems off the cuff and try to keep them intact. I think I just don't practice revising enough. And I have to stop considering this as "evidence" of my "instinctive" talent, and start thinking of it as flaw in my process.

Oh god, did I just say "my process"? I might be turning into a pretentious grad student after all...

Our collaborations class on Monday was awful. I mean, the class was fun. I had three glasses of wine and a glass of sake before it even started; of course it was fun. But our poem just did not come out well at all. At all.

At one point I stole Mickey's hat, pulled it over my eyes and said, "Just wake me when it's over." I was feeling so uninspired that I wanted nothing to do with the poem about an hour into it. But I'm afraid that, in lieu of writing the poem, I was flirting with Mickey instead. (Not that he helps matters any. When I returned the hat to him, he inhaled and said in this husky, aroused voice, "It smells like your hair.")

Speaking of crushes, I think one of my friends at school might have a crush on me. I just sort of notice him making comments for my benefit, going out of his way to sit by me, being quick to align himself with me in group conversations, etc. There's no way I'd be interested in him, so I guess it doesn't really matter anyway. But I'd kinda like to know if I'm being egotistical or if there's really something there. The Old Mo might have flirted with him just to feel him out. But the New Mo thinks that might not be the world's greatest idea.

Crushes are strange. Especially crushes that turn into flirtatious. And flirtations that turn into physical exploration of the crush. And there's always a possibility that things don't work out, and when it doesn't (and when it's my decision that it's not working out) I'm always afraid that I've led the other person on.

I'm paranoid about toying with people's emotions just to gratify my own ego, which Tim used to constantly accuse me of doing. Which I, admittedly, used to do back in the day. What if I still do it? My feelings run hot and cold sometimes. I can't stop thinking about someone one day, and I'm totally over them the next. I feel so fickle sometimes. I feel like I can't trust my own feelings.

Here's another scenario: I have crush on someone, and then when they decide they like me back, or try to go somewhere with it, I just want to run in the opposite direction. I'm like a little bunny when it comes to love. Don't make any swift movements! You'll frighten the bunny!

But this also makes me many bad things: a tease, for one. A flirt, for another. And a girl with a guilt complex, obviously. Maybe I'm just complex and confusing. A riddle wrapped in an enigma wrapped in cuteness.

(And I'm not even getting into the guilt I feel sometimes about fooling around with someone. Even if I'm single and they're single and there's nothing wrong with it on the surface... it seems that guilt is never far from rearing its ugly head.)

Maybe I'm thinking wrong. It's unrealistic to expect human emotions to make sense, and you can't always figure it out with analysis. And sometimes you just have to go for it without a safety net. In love, there's an element of risk involved. If it doesn't work out, you can't always blame yourself. And you can't always beat yourself up for going with the moment. How do you know if you're really attracted to someone if you don't find out the hard way?

Or maybe honesty is the key. Maybe cutting through all the hidden signals and signs, and actually laying it on the line in front of someone. Maybe that's the best way to approach romantic entanglements.

On the other hand, the hidden signals are kind of the fun part.

Anyway, I'm pretty sure I'm still a bunny. And I'm almost positive the above made absolutely no sense. But I'm working on it.

I've also had an epiphany lately regarding guilt.

Many people who know me know that I have an extremely guilty conscience. I have always tended to feel guilty for things I've done and things I've said, sometimes for years after the fact. Even small infractions. And that's no exaggeration.

But something happened to me a few days ago that brought my whole Catholic guilt thing into focus. Someone read something negative I wrote about them a long time ago. And when I was confronted about it, I realized that I wasn't figuratively flogging myself for it, like the Mo of yesteryear would have done. I realized I would never have written that today. I am a different person today. I apologized to the degree I felt was appropriate, but the important thing is that, regardless of whether they decided to forgive me or not, I forgave myself.

Maybe I stopped caring too much what other people think. This is another flaw I used to have-- a tendency to care too much what other people think about me. So if they don't forgive me, how can I forgive myself? And so I carry it around with me forever. Which is just stupid, really.

And then I started thinking about the real hurts that I have caused people-- Marcy being the prime example. And I realized that I learned from that situation, and I even believe I was karmically punished for it. Most importantly, I am not that person any longer. I can say for a fact that I wouldn't do such a thing today. And for the first time, I really forgave myself. Because really, the past is unchangeable.

One of my friends used to say that all the time. "Well, what's past is past." But I disrespected her for it, because in my opinion, she did some horrible things and never expressed remorse. She never really seemed to learn or change, and I had no doubt she would do it all over again, given the chance. (I could very well have been wrong in this assessment. This is another thing I don't think I would do today, make such a judgmental assumption.)

Well, what I did to Marcy, I wouldn't do again. That's the key. Maybe she will never forgive me; that's her prerogative. But I learned from it, and changed because of it, and I'm willing to forgive myself on that basis. This is really a fundamental shift in my way of looking at the world, and it's so liberating.

(And it only took ten years of lapsed Catholicism to get there, too.)

Here's an Emily Dickinson poem we read in class yesterday, which kind of speaks to this. It's a great poem, and it's amazing how I found this poem just at the time in my life when I am most receptive to it. Dickinson really didn't believe in guilt at all. The poem references Calvinist guilt in that last stanza, but she might as well have been talking about Catholic guilt.

I know you non-poets out there might find it confusing, but look on the bright side. I'm sure if I keep typing in this vein, the results will be way more confusing than Dickinson. And take far more time to read.

Remorse -- is Memory -- awake --
Her Parties all astir --
A Presence of Departed Acts --
At window -- and at Door --

Its Past -- set down before the Soul
And lighted with a Match --
Perusal -- to facilitate --
and help Belief to stretch --

Remorse is cureless -- the Disease
Not even God -- can heal --
for 'tis His institution -- and
The Adequate of Hell --

~Poem 744, The Complete Works of Emily Dickinson

"My dad is wearing... Harley Davidson cowboy boots, tiny white Daisy Duke shorts, and a leather jacket with no shirt."