I’m trying not to get stressed out. I’ve been sick for almost a week, and we have no idea what’s wrong with me. Going to the Dr. today to try and figure it out.

I don’t have time to sit on the couch and sleep. The inactivity stiffens up my creative muscles. And my muse is hiding, even at midnight when I can’t sleep.

I have a novel to draft. I have short stories to write.

 

“I’m tired
I’m worn
My heart is heavy
From the work it takes to keep on breathing

I’ve made mistakes
I’ve let my hope fail
My soul feels crushed
By the weight of this world
And I know that you can give me rest
So I cry out with all that I have left

Let me see redemption win
Let me know the struggle ends
That you can mend a heart that’s frail and torn”

Worn, Tenth Avenue North