i would like to have some better moments to describe. i don’t. i would like to tell you that i began reading raymond carver when my creative writing teacher gave me “a small, good thing” during one of our workshops. or when abby began to read both his poetry and prose obsessively during my junior year, that fated semester we all lived in the same house. but instead i have to confess (because they could show you anyway) the google search terms of “writers and alcohol” and the resulting web pages that list mr carver among the many who have written great things while ruining their livers.

okay. so now you know. but i’ve been reading for a couple hours now, and how strange it is to possess a man in a couple of volumes for only $30 some odd dollars and cents.

but i do feel a kinship. and release.

inspiration from reading is rarely a luxury i indulge in. lately. but tonight…