. . for if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly

– Langston Hughes

I feel like a broken-winged bird sometimes. Like I just want to soar, to experience the joy of flying, but I as much as I try, I can’t get my wings to work.

Sometimes it’s when I yell at the kids or Steven; sometimes it’s when a lesson I teach flops. Sometimes I try to do projects or activities with my kids (usually something Orthodox-related) and they flop.

I think lately it’s my writing (or lack thereof) that’s getting to me. I just spent (well, borrowed) all this money to get a creative writing degree, and I all I have is 7 published poems to show for it. Right now I’ve pretty much stopped writing poetry to focus on a non-fiction piece I’d like to enter in a contest. The due date is January 15, and I have so much work to do. I am so undisciplined, too. Once I get the kids to bed, I am tired and don’t feel like concentrating on writing. Writing and getting published is a very real dream for me, but I feel like I am letting my own dream down. Part of me thinks: Well I do have a full time job and two young kids. But I have friends who are in the same boat and still write!

I think the weight issue is also weighing me down (pun intended). I am mentally and emotionally motivated to lose weight. I WANT to be smaller and healthier. But physically I can’t stick to a diet or exercise plan. I’m undisciplined and lazy.

Okay, so this post has been mostly venting. I’m sorry about that. I know what the important things are and I am so thankful for my family, friends, faith, home, job, etc. I just wish sometimes it weren’t so hard to . . . fly.