I have written about things that happened, or imaginary worlds, since my parents first bought me cloth covered journals every summer when I was a middle-schooler.
But I can't seem to write about this pregnancy. I'm exhausted and brimming with cliches. It isn't because of the old saying that it is hard to write about happy things. I'm just tired. My husband kindly says that I'm "creating" something/someone else, so there's nothing to worry about. Between working and preparing for the baby, there just isn't much energy left to write. I can think of terrible lines like, "I'm pregnant! Yay!' or "Morning sickness sucks!", but I have no lines, or even punctuation, that belong in a poem.
The good news is that I have been feeling more efficient, perhaps because of the limited time, and have been editing and submitting work with less angst.
I have to trust in the energy I have now and go with it.
But I can't seem to write about this pregnancy. I'm exhausted and brimming with cliches. It isn't because of the old saying that it is hard to write about happy things. I'm just tired. My husband kindly says that I'm "creating" something/someone else, so there's nothing to worry about. Between working and preparing for the baby, there just isn't much energy left to write. I can think of terrible lines like, "I'm pregnant! Yay!' or "Morning sickness sucks!", but I have no lines, or even punctuation, that belong in a poem.
The good news is that I have been feeling more efficient, perhaps because of the limited time, and have been editing and submitting work with less angst.
I have to trust in the energy I have now and go with it.
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