  There is so much happening I can hardly apprehend it all. nbsp;  Whatever happened to Please,  God:  no more material ? nbsp;
 Obviously,  God isn't listening. nbsp;  Or else,  she's listening,  but she doesn't give a crap about my needs.
nbsp;  ( Yeah,  whatever,  God:  it's all about doing what we're&
nbsp; put here on earth to do,  facing down our demons . nbsp; blah,  blah,
 blah. nbsp;  Now tell me another one,  while I think about whether,  tonight,  I should drink,
 just so that later,  I might experience the inner exfoliation of barfing.  Raw beauty:  coffee today,  at a new place that's actually sort of close to my house,  with a friend I adore,
 who is a terrific writer,  whom I can actually trust to& nbsp; provide an objective,  constructive critique of my work. nbsp;
 Critique! nbsp;  It's a really important thing. nbsp;  But a bad thing to engage with fools,  as I have attempted to do in the past.
nbsp;  The result of which has been lots of vague comments about how something or another I've done is " just great,  wow,  terrific,  powerful,
nbsp;  ( or else it gets a blank stare)  and then me,  doggedly sifting through another's words,  in hopes of finding some nugget of goodness to point&
nbsp; to from within the suffering dilletante's tangle of banal prose or trite poetry. nbsp;  I mean,  it's fine to do if you're getting paid & nbsp;
to do that,  but otherwise,  it's a needless tax on the soul,  a mutual waste of time. nbsp;  And here was M,
 who isn't going to be ruthless for the sake of ruthlessness ( that capacity so many artists instinctually inculcate within themselves)  because,  well,  she loves me. nbsp;
 As I love her. nbsp;  Which is to say,  unsparingly. nbsp;  Which is to say,
 neither of us is going to let the other off the hook,  if something we've written is unclear,  or might be better related through another technique,  or if it's just unnecessary fat,  waiting in clearly bracketed segments for the& nbsp;
precision of the& nbsp; editorial knife. nbsp;  Then:  raw anxiety.
nbsp;  That employment- related situation about which I can't yet publicly speak,  or publicly write,  at least,  not in other than discrete terms.
nbsp;  I know that& nbsp; everything is going to work out okay for me. nbsp;  I actually know that.
nbsp;  But I have a waiting game to attend to,  and it's making me stir- crazy. nbsp;
