Regroup

No time to write these days. Or maybe, no space to get the words out and into the right places. Often, after I wake Madison up for school, I crawl back into bed for twenty more minutes. I feel tired. I feel that I have no excuse, and then I feel I have every excuse. Mostly, I just don't feel driven to write despite all circumstances, I guess.

Or maybe, I'm bored of my own voice, my tiresome presence.

I don't think all writers must be egocentric, or are. But you need to feel like you have something to say to the world that's worth saying and believe that you can say it well. I go through spells where I feel that way. But this isn't one of them. I'm sick and tired of working 7 days a week- this gets more painful the sunnier it gets- and a slew of job rejections have bruised my self-esteem about being a nurse. Navigating the stinky politics of a medical monopoly. I try to slither like a desperate worm, the way I'm supposed to, but I always seem to answer the questions wrong. And it feels like everyone but me has a cheat sheet.

I must have been absent that day.

Within the shabby mess of all that, writing ceases to even be an escape for me so I sit staring at Facebook, watching myself die in the reflection of myself in my computer screen. I've got to shake all that off and get back to more real life and more writing.