Week Seven, Day Eight

Feels like it’s going to be a bad day. I don’t feel creative at all. Do you ever wonder, some mornings, why did I even get out of bed?


Wrote a five stanza poem about my appearance just now. The first four lines popped into my head while I was in the shower. The poem probably needs a concluding stanza and editing . . . definitely editing, but it’s rough drafted and filed in My Poems folder.


As I saved the poem, “My Appearance”, I noticed one above it titled “My Body”. I checked to see how similar they were. Ha, ha, not similar at all. My body is an amusing four line poem that was written about six weeks before I finally had to go out on medical leave from the job I loved.


I saw a picture that had gone viral. It was a father sleeping under his baby’s hospital crib. It reminded me of the picture I took of my oldest,  Jordan, when I spent a week in the hospital in March. He worked every night – third shift, just like that baby’s father had done – and then Jordan drove 31 miles to the hospital I was in. He’d check on me and then sleep on the couch in my room. Then he’d drive 31 miles back to his town to get ready for work that night. I’m going to write briefly about him on my Proudofeverywrinkle blog here on WordPress, and I’ll post the picture I took of him on the couch while I was in the hospital. I’m going to post it here as well.



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