I’m feeling anxious for having no where to be right now. Which should be a wonderful thing, really and I have somewhere to be later because around here without our families, someone always takes pity on us and invites us to their family gatherings because we are orphans and pat and I haven’t lived together long enough to have set traditions for things – we’ve been together for 8.5 years, but we have no holiday traditions because we were never together on holidays. These past 2 years or 1.5 years, I’m not sure, have been the first time we’ve lived together as adults. “Adults”
But I feel an urgency. It woke up with me this morning. Checking my email over and over for a response from my friend about her doubts and discouragements about writing and publishing because to me the writing is always important. It always takes over, even sleeping in.
The clouds froth and dissipate around the sun. I sent a bunch of poems off and am waiting to get rejected in 3-4 months. But it’s OK. I’m OK. There’s still a chance they might take them. There’s still a chance of rain today, but it’s hasn’t shed a drop.
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