I'll read poetry and no longer feel I want to write something so cutting. Instead I feel tiny and envious and angry. Over something that someone, on a good day, maybe got paid 200 dollars for and sits published in a dusty book in the back o beyond of your local library.
I won't delete it. And, I think I'll pop back when I feel I have something to say to put to digital paper.
Don't worry about me. I know I live a life of extraordinary privilege. Even when I'm bluesy and do not look forward to going to the office (which is every day, am I right), I am fortunate to have what I have. It's late stage capitalism. I think we all have the right to be bluesy, just different degrees of it.
If you read this and enjoyed it, then thank you!
If you read this and didn't, then thank you for reading. Maybe you stumbled on it and felt what is this boring little spiraling thing.
See everyone later!
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