Misha The Poet Laureate

Good morning. It is 2026-05-08, and it’s a Friday.

Sitting in the cockpit right now. It’s the little spot on my desk that is reserved for writing. The blackbook, a whiteboard with a small tear away calendar (for tracking the number of days in a row that I write a poem), a small stack of books, two pen jars, and some little plastic bins for stickers, sticky notes, and a tarot deck. Enough room for a coffee cup, and then you’re ready to rock.

Yesterday, river time with friends. Erin and Eleanor. Out on a blanket. Living a beautiful life.

Still at war with Iran. Still out of work. Still wondering if any of this is going to matter. But I’m typing at a little machine that automatically saves my words, shows me the random wisdom I have gathered, and I am going swimming soon, and I’m about to drink really good coffee. I think life is really good right now if the anxiety wasn’t there.

Note to self: if dropbox glitches on linux, just quit it and re open. Again, turning it off and back on is 90% of tech support.

mrawr. -Gus every morning

Later: didn’t get the job that I think I would have been good at. Sigh. May and I’m still not working. Terrifying.

Currently decluttering the side table. I need to do the things that will fix it. Jade knows this. I know this.

As I was driving out of Foster, there was a woman mostly naked in traffic, screaming, and bleeding. She was sitting on the pile of all her belongings in the turn lane of Foster and Glisan. I watched as she smeared her blood on someone’s passenger door as they drove by. I am closer to her as I’ve been in a long time. I didn’t stop. Instead, I drove somewhere to eat a Reuben.

Today has bad news. But I’m persisting.

On my phone. I don’t have Instagram or discord on here anymore. Maybe that’s a sign that I should stop posting poems there.

Good morning. It’s 2026-05-07, and it’s a Thursday.

Yesterday was wonderful. Spent about four hours hanging out with my friend E. We talked about surgery seasons, and job anxieties, and barbecue, and growing up. We drank coffee. We ate really good brisket sandwiches. Soaking up time with friends is a delightful thing. Two sad grls out in the world.

I also overdid it on snacks yesterday. Too much sugar. So I’m very very loopy today.

Sometimes, when I’m shitting on the toilet, Gus will reach out under the door and scratch me. I don’t like that at all. He really doesn’t like closed doors.

Good morning. The cat has the zoomies right now. Wants all the attention in the world. Is eating better. New food and more energy. Has that annoying habit of reaching under the bathroom door while you are pooping, just to feel that you are there. Object permanence doesn’t seem to be his strong suit.

5:30 a.m. protocols seem to be in place again. Getting up after not nearly enough sleep. Maybe I’ve been getting too much afternoon caffeine or something. Maybe the anxiety of waiting after the job interview is having it’s way with me. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe I’m a lost witch, my body left behind by the chance for work for meaning and spirit. Maybe I want to complicate things, turn myself upside down for a delight of change.

Waterproof notebooks coming to put in the swim bag. Pencil already in there. Capture devices everywhere.

The line “Does he sense how the stardust of transition sparks my flesh” desrves a better poem. Next time.

Good morning. It’s 2026-04-05, and it’s a Tuesday.

Cinco de mayo and taco tuesday on the same day. Gay tacos is going to be BUSY tonight.

Just back from the pool. Went early so I could meet a dear friend for coffee, but she isn’t feeling well today, so I’m at the writing desk instead. During my swim the line “Does he sense how the stardust of transition sparks my flesh” popped in, and it deserves a better poem than what I wrote. I’ll try again later in the notebook.

Chatting with my friend K about Frank Herbert and the Bulterian Jihad. Revealed to her that Herbert wrote a book about personal computing. We contain multitudes.

Spent another hour this morning looking at notebook covers. Listen: I already have the perfect wallet/notebook/pen/ebook hybrid. I don’t need another fucking notebook cover.

But it’s sooo pretty.

A good reminder when I am encountering rural and working folk:

“The Rural didn’t vote for Trump. They voted for Nothing.

These aren’t the people who voted for Trump; these are part of the majority who saw no point in voting at all.”