Things are happening and I couldn’t feel them. Not yet. It’s like I’m too sleepy, too absorbed in the cold, bed-cuddly mornings that want to, figuratively and literally speaking, stay in bed. January has this blessed weather I want to linger, but good things won’t last. But there’s beauty in impermanent things, because it signals us to wake up and move on to the next.

I had two rejection letters this week — the “no” wasn’t the actual sting, but the fact that my confidence about this book starts to dwindle and hope flickers low. It’s been a tough week for writing. If it weren’t for work, I wouldn’t be inspired to rise up from bed and serve my clients with the attention they deserve. I’m thankful for my clients. I’m thankful that they come right in time when I need motivation from a writing slump.

But there’s a little bit of good, too

Things I’m proud to do this week: I submitted poems. I made some and sent some to lit mags.  For certain, I’ll be sending more while waiting for the light to shine on my head and angels to sing a song of victory. I am revising Mirage too, not as religiously as I should, but it’s on my priority list. Either I send it to SFF magazines, or have it self-pubbed, the latter which is my final resort when nothing is happening in my life.

I am still wondering whether I would get a bad mark from the local publishing house I sent my manuscript to, or if they ever received it at all. Three months. Three months of guessing. Three months and then the denouement rushes over like a big splosh. It’s going to hurt.

But before all that happens, I need to survive the song-arranging Sundays for Awakenings. Which included this particular Sunday, where my voice strained its worse strain, we all got stuck in grit, and everyone felt unsatisfied even after two hours of playing the same song. And before that, I was hurrying up to the meeting, even disrupting my mom’s talk with my uncle, held up a baggage for a good hour, only to find out we couldn’t practice when I get there, for the boys had a class. Which was bad, but also nice, because I got to sit with AJ and realize she grew up to be an otaku. AND YOU KNOW WHAT OTAKU GIRLS ARE. She was a fan of Attack on Titans. And her anime crush, which was an effort to squeeze out of her because she kept squealing, was Eren.

Ah, I know that very, very well. I could tell you, I used to have an anime crush too: he was not drawn nicely and had weird proportions but that child in me liked him very much and LOOK. I have a real life crush who wears his hair blonde and has a guitar and used to have great arms but no, he doesn’t have a Digimon.

Epilogue

Sorry for writing this with less heart. I hope to find some this new week.

Doors closing in 3, 2, 1.