I woke up this morning so sad that my bones hurt and not just my wrist. I haven't been the same since I left the South. Blue and listless for no good reason. If I was more romantic I would think I was in love, but I know better to believe such things.
I spend more time worrying about writing than I do writing. I've been looking for a way to change this for years and still no answers. I know the first step is to just write, but that is hard when nothing strikes you as worthy.
The classroom is quiet.
Maybe my students won't spend the day complaining. It's hard to listen to them for 10 hours straight.
