digging though boxes of old pages, even going so far as to start his own little publishing house.  We talked before I went on my wedding and honeymoon leave, in the market break room.  He told me that one manuscript he’d been touching here and there for over TEN YEARS.

No judgement at all from me, but where my head went was, “TEN YEARS??”

I don’t have that kind of time, I told myself and reminded myself on the plane from Detroit to SFO.

I’m writing like a songwriter, like Kerouac, Tupac, and others who scribble and send to the stage.  And how pertinent with my declared decision to STOP.

Overthinking.

Self-doubting.

Measuring and measuring.

Wondering….

The morning, quiet.  No student this week to my surprise and slight frustration but I’m making it work for me.  Don’t have to try that hard… GRATITUDE.