books for wine. five dollar nights.

Last night I dreamt of dancing and making out. I slept deeply. I woke up smiling and thought, “There’s no way I could possibly wake up feeling this good without a catch…”

My phone died during dreamtime = Gretchen Cello was dressed, out the door, & sitting at her desk less than sixty minutes after falling out of bed and tripping over both the puppies this morning.

One of these days I’ll invest in a proper alarm clock…

When days start like this, there’s kind of no getting out of the, “Wait, is this really happening?” zone.

I purchased a trashy bottle of $5 red on the way home with thoughts like, “Being broke is awesome” – “Damn I got ready quick this morning” – and “I should really polish up some work and like, send it to someone… it has been a year and all.”

With heavy feet and feeling ick I shuffled home on a grey autumn day in Melbourne.

Upon arrival I came across a neighbor who said, “Gretchen! Hello! Oh… wait… one second…” before disappearing inside and returning with a brown paper bag. “This is for you… for the book.”

In the rare instances that I have face-to-face conversations with anyone about my work and Poetry: Volume 1 arises, the scene tends to turn into an uncomfortable, “How can I get your book?!” “I’ve got one you can have.” “I’ll pay you!” “No… really… I’ve got one…”

Bartering rules. My luke warm day heated to gushing red heartbeats while I said with rosy cheeks over the fence, “You didn’t have to do that…” and received a glowing, “Thank you,” in return.

I love the days that bring me back to what it’s all actually about.