I thought I would never get through hump day (shown here is what I wore yesterday, Wednesday), but I have.
And now, Thursday morning, I refuse to revise right away the verse I wrote in white heat two days ago. Not yet.
I should do myself the favor of trying to move on with something else, before returning to what I have written and rewritten countless times. Get my mind off it. Bury those lines in sand.
Then maybe one day I can unearth it once again and read that damn stanza detached.
You see, this is the price I pay for insisting on not to join the academe: to have so many focal points far removed from what I am writing.
Oh but the discipline!
Bite the bitter bullet of frustration and regret just to maintain rigor.
Dear muse and voice, don’t forsake me.
I am here to play your music.
Damned solitude. (Don’t we all belong to it?)
But steady now, Thursday. Help me not go crazy. Nothing is achieved in an instant.