miss (+ing)

Finally finished the mitts for Zach, and a pair for Anne, too. Next: a knitted cushion cover in stripes. But knitting doesn't feel like making to me; it is what I do while I read or watch movies or talk on the phone or listen to music.

I miss being part of the blogging community. Miss reading + commenting, being read, receiving your comments. Miss making; feel like if I cannot make something soon I will explode. Rather. Miss Martha. Miss Sally. Miss Mulysa and Brian. Miss all of all y'all. Miss the way fabric feels in my hands. Also the smell of my city, and the way I can walk all of it without my eyes open. The university. My students. Miss teaching poetry. Miss the smell of the printshop, the print professor's gruff ways, the printmaking grad students. Miss poetry, really. How to do it, this living in the world thing? Because I know when I leave here, it will be the same, only on the other side.