I don’t know how to let go of things when I screw up.
I owned it, fixed what I wronged, yet it still left me on the floor,
I curled up on the floor, sobbing while a sweet dog nuzzled my neck.
My wife convinced me it’s time to see a psychiatrist.
She’s right, no one should be this sad and this anxious all the time.
I am afraid I’ll lose the will to write, but even that’s already a struggle.
Meanwhile, I’m putting together the query letter and synopsis
Sending Gravity’s Reach out to authors is a nerve-wracking thing.
I’m normally good at ignoring the cold hopelessness feeling,
But lately, it’s ever-chilling and I can’t seem to find a spark.
11.21.19
Savor sweat and strain
Restlessness is a fuel
Anxiety spurns work
Grind every day away
Those that achieve dreams
Find peace in the process
11.13.19
Teachers I love leave the classroom
Faster than the desks falling apart
Administration cowers to lying parents
Natural consequences be damned
We, the teachers, have no one watching
Our backs, besides each other, anymore
There’s no point in staying on to see how
Bad it will get, there’s no place for me