My brain is getting enough exercise. My body, however, is going soft. I’m sitting at the computer right now, hungry, and having just completed a paper. I am reading poems. I am reading poetry written by people who have been published in various magazines, some several times. Most of the poems I would call “okay” at best. It disappoints me that these people are getting published. But I digress. James was supposed to get off work at five. It is now six. We were going to go to the gym before dinner. Now, because he has worked another too-long day, we probably won’t. If he had been home on time, I would be sweaty and snacking by now. As it is, I am merely bored with the poetry of my contemporaries and wondering why my list of publication credits does not come close to the length of theirs. My poems seem just as good–I won’t say better, though they might be–but who am I to judge?