I have determined I can actually make the Caribou coffee that we sell at the library coffee cart drinkable by the following recipe-1 part coffee, 1 part water, 1 part cream, and about four to five sugars. It’s not the greatest, but it’s better than it is full-on. I miss Rain Dog. I miss asiago and prosciutto croissants. Now they seemed to have opened a tango school in the space, which does nothing to temper my coffee needs. How dare?
End of the semester, and I’m tired of looking at/touching/moving around books. Did some shelving on the third floor to pick up the slack and realized all that kneeling and bending are not so fun when you’ve passed thirty (well maybe for SOME things, but certainly not shelving books). And of course, end of semester jackasses are rampant and coming out of the woodwork. Angry professors, stressed out students. And it all just keeps coming at you. Plus we’re seriously understaffed, since most of my co-workers have to use all their remaining vacation before January 1 or lose it, so we’re down to the barest bones. I sadly, used the last of my vacation days before Thanksgiving, so am stuck working through next Thursday. But after that, a whole blissful week off…
I have finally succeeded in wading through the dgp inbox and responding to almost all of the chaps. As I've said before, I hate rejecting chapbooks, which feel like a much more serious responsibility than just a few poems--obviously something the author spent a bunch of time on to create. I do it reluctantly, and wish I could publish all the ones that speak to me, but I can't. Such is the nature of the beast I imagine.
