i always burn my tongue whenever i’m eating pizza or soup. always. you’d think i’d learn. today is a soup day, though, all soggy and dreary and chilly bones. two days of a tender, burned tongue is a fair trade for warmth and coziness amidst a gray day.
a friend is coming to visit this weekend which means joy, excitement, fun, and before that, all the cleaning. i’d call myself a tidy person, but not necessarily a neat person. dusting is truly annoying and vacuuming pointless. dishes, however, i never let sit. they’re a pain to wash meal in and meal out, and so letting them sit is the worst offense of all because then the food, crumbs, and stains grow into the plates and pots and pans and that’s no match for a sponge. dishes get done immediately in my household.
we’re nearing the workshop portion of my class and the fears i’d thought i’d set aside are blinking themselves awake.
and yet, i’m also considering submitting a piece to an online journal. my teacher said we should aim for rejection so if you get something else, it’s a pleasant surprise and if you don’t, you’ve reached your goal. the only time my writing’s ever received a yes was when i applied to the MFA program.
Abigail Mumford 