I put too much pressure on myself to be a poet when that is not the descriptor I would ultimately choose for myself. I would hope to be successful enough in writing that I could attempt fiction or non-fiction with ease, but I get so caught up in the process I never post any sort of progress.

Practice, practice, practice.

I haven’t been practicing much of anything lately, except banging my head against any given object with any sort of misplaced frustration I can muster. So here’s to the effort, thank you to “Room to Write” by Bonni Goldberg, may she inspire me enough to post something new:

Today, as you write, incorporate into the piece some of what you would like to be doing right now if you were not writing. p.105

I am sitting uncomfortably, hunched over my computer in the dim light of a desk lamp, writing without my contacts in. I squint in the middle of the day when my sight is at it’s clearest, so this middle of the night business is nonsense. I am on my bed, but I’ve read article upon article about shutting off the lights and turning off electronics when attempting to sleep, making this bed-sitting completely unacceptable. I would be sleeping if these thoughts would stop plaguing me and some sort of guilt will ensue if I continue this short process, but I can’t stop it: there are too many problems in the world for us to not be stuck on one or another, regardless of them being real or made up.

I have been attempting to pay more attention to the reality that surrounds us, keeping up with the news and the politics of the world by reading articles. The daily update is daunting; there is something tragic happening on a second-to-second basis and trying to decipher it all overwhelms me, at times. How are we supposed to align our overall goals with the realization that there are so many people drowning in their individual situations? Can we reach out to help the world if we are not capable of helping ourselves? Or are we helping ourselves by reaching out to the world, and if that is the mind-set, could it be considered selfish?

Worry for the world while worrying for oneself. Worry not about my alliteration though, we all know that’s whack.

This entry was posted in Prose.

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