I am slowed down by winter, elevating increases of paranoia and self-doubt, and the day to day struggles of life. But-
-started new poetry pieces on marriage.
-started new flash fiction pieces and possible beginning of a short story (and I love this character. I really do. I want to get back to her right away. She’s a bit loud and aggressive and keeps asking me to tell her story. I say, “wait, please, I have three children, and I’m trying to make them lunch and perhaps have a bedroom floor I can see.” And she says she doesn’t care about my damn floor. She has a story to tell and if I won’t sit down and listen, she’ll leave. She doesn’t have time for this. She’s impetuous, full of passion, doesn’t know where to spend her time, doesn’t know what to do with the energy she has under her skin, she’s waiting, waiting, waiting to blossom. I say, “you have your whole life ahead of you, just give me three more days or something. let me get back to you during the next naptime.” She’s so pissed at me right now.)