15 weeks now, with you inside of me. I have an overactive thyroid and went to the ER once for dehydration [from vomiting so much] and had to be hospitalized.
I’ve been having lots of doubts lately. About work next year. About my writing — or lack thereof. About when I wrote poems. About all this new journalism stuff that I’ve made my world over the last year & a half — a world I’m already welcomed in & have succeeded in — but then I wonder why? Is this what I wanted? How did poetry & poems get so lost in all of this? What am I meant to do?
This is my curse. I’m very good at focusing on things in the short term, but then I lose interest and move on to something else.