I call myself a poet

Really, what the hell's wrong with me? I have entire collections of delectible poems, anthologies, philosophical triumphant dissertations... at my fingertips, merely inches away as I type this--and I can't read them in full. When I've decided it's "reading time", I grab not one, but several juicy bound collected's and scatter them excitedly on my bed, shuffle into choosing position, pawn over each one lovingly, then 1) can't decide which one to gouge myself on 2) get distracted with entirely unrelated thoughts 3) get so wrapped up in my not being able to concentrate on such magnificent stuff that I plain give up 4) go to sleep, or, grab a drink, or, go to sleep with a drink in my hand.

Anyone else have this problem (the reading, not the drinking)? At this rate I'll be lucky if I fully absorb a book a year.

Oh, and I've updated my links list. Stay tuned, next week maybe a review of Shift & Switch in the Ottawa XPress, if I'm lucky. Hope so, I'm terribly broke.