My eyes are red-rimmed and I had a take-away burger for dinner. With chips. I even ate the bread roll, forgetting my current ban on wheat. It’s been that sort of day.
Not broad enough
First there was the rejection email. That story I pitched, the daily note I liked so much I offered it to a complete stranger to use in a commercial publication, has been politely declined for not having “broad appeal”.
It was thrilling to actually receive a response. Usually I send my precious words off into the editorial vacuum to be met with depressing silence. But as the response registered I became very glum.
I closed the email, twisted with self-doubt, and went upstairs to fold washing.
Bickering
And despite the progress I thought I’d made with my sports-loving comrades, it appears I still have a way to go.
We became bogged down in another email volley today, arguing over who really wears the hat and what piece of paper says so.
Instead of writing stories or pithy posts I frothed over veiled accusations and misconstrued motivations.
The struggle continues.
Great sadness
Then, from a place of disappointment and irritation, a text tipped me over into true sadness.
A baby has died. A tiny soul born early and wracked with brain seizures couldn’t be saved. The mother, my Ballerina’s first real teacher, will be in more pain than I can even imagine. No one saw this coming and the dance studio family is shattered, grieving for Miss Kristin and her husband Kane.
I’m going to have to find some words to express how I feel. But right now it’s a struggle.
