I need to finish my CAC grant narrative, but I’m so tired I want to weep & then there’s the budget page still to do. The CAC website keeps crashing & then I lose data. It’s due tomorrow & poets STILL haven’t sent in materials. Feeling let down & frustrated. And now my back is threatening to spasm. That’s all I need.
If I could get the poets to send in their stuff in, that would help. I’m quite miffed by their extreme tardiness. One late poet just got his materials in. But now I can’t download anything because I need a stable WiFi connection for my laptop. So that sucks.
I’m not about to drive down the road just to find strong WiFi. And my cell doesn’t work out in west Marin so I can’t even call Brennan. I mean I’m literally sleeping on people’ couches, and living feral, so I can meet my commitments, and get this grant in on time, and instead I’m spending most of my time herding cats. Why do I even bother?
Every single poet did not get their work to me on time, causing all kinds of havoc. I feel so betrayed. I thought Tobey and Brennan were late enough, Sophie didn’t even bother to check her email but at least she sent everything in organized, at the last minute—but Tureeda sent in nothing at all. Nothing. Susie offered to call her. I needed a letter of support from school, I was able to fabricate a bio, sample poems, kid poems, freshen up the letter of support, etc. It took some doing, but they’ll do. All this lateness means I just wasted two hours recreating her information, whereas I should be using that time to finish the grant. Everything is uploaded onto the CAC grant site. Now I polish and prune, look for loopholes.
This problem exacerbated x 4 poets means that I’ve literally squandered and wasted hours and hours trying to get the info I need from them, instead of writing the grant. Don’t they get that? Frustrated, I am. And the irony is if we get the grant, it means lovely residencies for them. Free teaching money. Tardiness to the extreme is not helpful or conducive to grant writing.
I always knew organizing poets is like herding cats. But this time I’m really annoyed. My back hurts, I have such bad I strain that I can’t see, and I haven’t had a full nights sleep in ages. I really feel betrayed. Ok, I’m done with the uploads, some minor tinkering after my brain recovers, and in it goes. Wish it luck. Submitting a grant electronically means you can no longer kiss the envelope for luck.
Ah, first rain, or is it merely a fizzle of a drizzle? Gawd, even the rain is late. But the acrid odor of petrichor, blood of stones rises up to greet me, and I think how writing this grant has been like squeezing blood from stones. I don’t think I ever want to have to do this again. I keep thinking what would John have done? Forge ahead. I think of all the grants that we wrote together and how much I learned from him, this is what sustains me now.
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