It’s midnight and I’m thinking about the past, about things that must be done before I go to bed. For what must be the fourth or fifth time, I’ve gone to school to find the office I need to talk to closed. I’ve gone to Borders too many times instead of going home to get some work done. Although reading Margaret Atwood is always enjoyable, I haven’t been writing or revising, I haven’t been workshopping. I have residency applications due in less than two weeks, which means I have to send them out in about a week, and I’ve yet to come up with a cohesive set of project ideas, much less a writing sample.
Then there are logistical things to worry about: how am I going to pay the application fees, should I considering reapplying to MFAs this year, why haven’t I submitted anything to any publication in over six months? I really have only myself to blame, for all these problems, so I’ll stick to that.
A lot of these posts are strictly for me, though some are for others. I have no idea how many days my hair has been growing. 130 days seems like it was a long time ago. My hair now curls at the back of my neck and flows over my ears.