June 16, 2020
A perfect day for most: sun, 22 degrees (Celsius), slight breeze, no cloud. I convinced myself that if I could overcome my feelings and work, those feelings would disappear. I now work through, and with the feeling, as it, anxiety, corrodes my interior. My organs rust, a manufacturing defect. Writing slows the process. When will my skin begin to show?
Last night I decided I would review the Journey Prize nominees.
