Still, there is the residual guilt.
Finish what you start.
Finish every last morsel on your plate.
You can't leave the table till you finish.
Even if it gets cold.
I want it hot! hot! hot!
So I juggle.
I am learning to live with my juggling.
For the last three weeks this is my juggling routine:
I read 3 poems from Ronald Johnson's Ark, 3 poems from William Bronk's Selected, 3 poems from Rosmarie Waldrop's Blindsight, 3 poems from Maurice Scully's Livelihood.
In between the readings (or during, time can be frozen) I jot down words in my small notebook.
Then I reconstruct them and add them into my long poem Campanology.
Every 3 days (or so) I re-read and re-order Campanology (try to find connective tissue).
Any other jugglers out there?