That’s how it’s been lately. I’ve got a lot of irons in the fire and a lot to hang my hat on and a lot of other positive metaphors. But when I’ve sat down to do what I believe in most, which is write my book, it hasn’t happened. And I’m trying to making this thing the epitome of me and all the things I see. For a while it was like I was benching new highs and the past couple weeks I’ve felt more like Giles Corey (minus being a litigious curmudgeon). 

When I’ve tried to make the time to write #OfTheNight, I’ve wound up distracting myself or being interrupted regularly – like, every 5 to 20 minutes. That’s on top of feeling stuck and as if I really need to go back and iron out what I’ve got before I can move on in earnest. 

(side note: it’s not done like I wanted it to be, but that’s okay. It wasn’t about meeting a deadline. It’s about writing a book that’ll mess with your heart..)

And then the rest of life keeps happening and I do silly things, like forget my manuscript with all my notes for rewrites on my girlfriend’s dining room table when I won’t be back at the house until three days later. So I sit down again, this time at my own table, try to eek out anything that resembles the frustration of going for it only to get stuck in traffic that resembles a parking lot, and what’s below is what results.

Go ‘head and teach me a lesson – 

might as well with all this time I’m dying to use.

Put me in front of the Never Was, 

Yell at me “That’s you.”

Think long and hard about the interruptions,

how you want them to lead.

Think about their (mis)calculations,

about their neurotic stampedes.

Offer me a breath when you’re feeling sympathetic, 

cut one off when you’re not.

Let me make to-do lists

so I can say I forgot.

You know I’ll rest in your name,

at the very least try.

But you’re a lumpy pillow

and I’m a sigh.

Maybe it’s by design, the way you’ll ask where I’ve been

When you know the walls just as I do.

Maybe I’m supposed to know you know,

so I can ask, too.

Stuck wrapped between my skin and my muscle

is apparently bone.

I’ll take your word for it

if you leave me alone.