Spent the morning re-typing my poetry manuscript, the electronic copy of which was stolen when my rental car was broken into in Seattle last January. It sounds like no big deal, but it's kind of a hairy manuscript, and I've hit a patch in the mss. where I don't like the poems anymore (right now) (did I ever?), so I want to give up now, give up the whole thing, the whole writing thing. Which means the whole existence thing.
(Don't worry, I'm not suicidal, just, just. . . bothered in a kind of restless, unsettled way, as the Bard says with what i most enjoy contented least.)
What do you do with a day like this? And how do you keep it from seeping into other days?
I did bake Cracked Wheat Honey bread today.
So I guess that's two things on my to-do list--retyping the mss. and baking bread. I should feel good about that, right?
Gimme some advice: what do you do when you suddenly feel your whole idea of yourself is built on a faulty premise? Start over? Ignore it? Decide it's too late to turn back?