For Yesterday

There is nothing to say. Two days that were supposed to be for writing and I have six sentences. I’ve read only 100 pages. Eighteen days until my next packet is due, but take away three for a meditation retreat and it looks more like another two-week turnaround time. Today I ate nine cookies. Tiny ones, but still…nine. I wanted to drink but my body is sick of drinking. I’ve exercised, had green tea, and called friends when I needed to. I’ve pried the muse, snuck up on the muse, fed the muse, bribed the muse, and still…no effing grace granted.

And tonight (Monday), there’s no Internet to even lend the façade of connection to the outside world. I did get off the mountain to have dinner at a friend’s house. It was good and yet, I feel sap-sucking depressed.

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