Every week, it's like this for me on Friday night.
I resent, I'm angry.
All the exuberance of the week, the continuing untangling, the ideas, the inching forward...
Then tomorrow, my mother.
Her neediness, her anxiety trumping any feeling of mine, any optimism
Her persitent questions, stifling the interest from anything I'm saying.
The deep midnight-black hole of her self pity.
I try not to write about it now.
But week after week, it's there, there.
brokendownangel
Pro


I wouldn't go, but that is because I am an unfeeling bitch and would put myself first. You are good to go and do this every week, you are a writer, a talented one at that, go somewhere in your head x