January 5, 2006 - Drunk Poetry Reading/ Stick Game

I am in some kind of creative writing class, but one which is located outside in a lush green courtyard. There are maybe about 30 other people in the class and a teacher, possibly male. It is time for me to give a poetry reading and the chairs are arranged audience style with a podium set up in front. I get up to the podium with stack of papers and begin to talk about what I’m going to read (pitter. patter.) when I realize that I’m really drunk. I’m trying to struggle through my intro but it becomes more and more difficult to speak. I have to keep stopping and shuffling through papers, turning aside to get a drink of water.

Suddenly my cell phone rings and for some reason I answer it. It’s Sybille and she’s obviously upset. I tell her I’m in the middle of a lecture, but she either isn’t listening or doesn’t understand what I’m trying to tell her. She continues, very upset, “Well, I just think the outlook on this whole thing is just fucked!” Finally, I get a chance to talk and explain to her, “I’m staning in front of about 30 people and they are all looking at me and listening to every word I say.” Finally she unerstands and immediately changes, and becomes very cheery and loose. “Oh. Okay. Well, I’ll talk to you later.” And she hangs up.

But, I’ve completely lost everyone’s attenttion and they are moving furniture all around the courtyard. I step aside for a moment thinking that they are just rearranging things in a circle so that the reading is more informal, and that I will continue shortly. Soon, though, it becomes apparent that they are actually setting up to play some kind of game and that the reading is over without my ever having read a single poem.

The game they are playing involves a baton-like piece of wood that is flung at the ground in such a way that it bounces or flips back up into the air. The people have arranged themselves in two big circles away from each other, and I understand these to be two separate games. I am hanging back watching while leaning on the corner of an ivy-covered building. They are calling me to come play, but I don’t want to because: a. I’m mad that my reading was pre-empted, and b. I have no faith in ability to play this game, and am in fact afraid of getting hurt. I have the thought, “Maybe I should go running again.”