I’m feeling stagnant. The daily poems (word salads) have become mechanical, and I’m not sure how I’m feeling about them now. I’m in that mode of “only x to go” (which is now down to “only five to go”), so they’re feeling like a chore. I have books I want to read, but I keep finding myself on social media. Damn dopamine! I have a bunch of yarn and an arsenal of crochet hooks, but I struggle with the confidence to do something with it, so much so that’s I’ve started and then pulled apart my purple yarn four times now. I feel like Penelope, working on the shroud by day and pulling it apart at night.

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