The wretched problem with Ticketmaster and the Tickets to the Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival reminded me how I'm in Limbo. don't live anywhere, I don't have a name, an occupation, and existence I don't live in Detroit or in NY. The people in Detroit thingk I'm still in NY and the people in NY think I'm in Detroit. I'm not really a writer or a poet or a photographer or a writer or a scientist or an educator, I'm not even a proper wife or mother. I'm not sleeping but I'm not properly awake. I can't go backpacking and I can't sing. And I'm too tired to explain why.