"I'm going," I type. Hmm. Would it be better for me to use "I will go?"
Or "Yesterday I went…?" Maybe I should instead say "went with gusto."

Remember: show, not tell. "I broke into a cold sweat, my heart pounding,
As I thought of going. But…" Heck! "Obstacles were forever abounding?"

Sheesh. I've veered off into poetry even though I wanted to write a story.
Enough of this idiocy. I'm frustrated, addlepated, pixilated… additory?

I just caught myself sighing. Maybe the next will flow more smoothly.
"Jon woke thinking of Julie. He tried to plan — rudely, crudely, poorly…"

To the trash with this! I'll take a quick peek at Facebook then try again.
I really hope I'll feel much more alert, refreshed and invigorated then.

Gaah! Hours have passed and I've accomplished zilch. This is a total pain.
I feel like yelling, hitting something, and recall a saying: no pain, no gain.

I force myself to breathe in and out and slowly regain my ability to cope.
I'll try to focus on my writing, steadily moving upward and onward, I hope.

"Bowling was what Bob had planned to do…" No, no. That's passive voice.
"Bob had considered bowling, but the fire occurred, changing his choice."

"Changing his choice?" Sigh. That sounds like utter crap. It truly does, too.
Considering my latest writing, maybe trashing it is exactly what I should do.

Nothing is going right. I can't focus when I want to and think I'll just scream.
Sleep's eluded me lately but maybe I can nap. Or that could be a pipe dream.

Hah! I just got an idea, based on a suggestion writers try to write what they know,
And I'm going to quickly type on my laptop before my inspiration decides to go.

"Lately, I've had to force myself to eat. Even then, food at times comes back up.
Sleep seems foreign to me now but I used to slumber like the most tired-out pup.

I'm Marilee, by the way. My life's been rough, truly a living hell, since Mama died.
She was my best friend and seemed healthy till she collapsed, a tumor found inside.

Her youngest children are twelve and sixteen, my full siblings, and I'm twenty-three.
Our father abandoned us long ago and with Mama gone, they desperately need me.

I'm trying to do it all: working, keeping up the house, helping them with homework,
But they're struggling. Hurting. Falling apart. Their names are Elizabeth and Dirk.

They love me. I know that. But I think they resent my being here when she's gone.
She was good at dealing with our ups and downs. I'm not and they've withdrawn.

I admit that's my own tendency but I can't retreat and pull away. I love them, too.
Still, I honestly wonder where we're headed and how to handle this. What do I do?"

I just reread those lines and they touch a chord in me, probably because they're real.
I'm glad I followed what's turned out to be excellent advice, and I hope we all heal.

The kids are talking outside, their voices getting louder. They're home from school
So I'm going to have to set my writing aside, don a parental hat, and try to be cool,

Interested, caring, available, and more. My computer's still on but I'll be turning
It off. I have supper to fix, laundry to do, and I suspect reviewing and relearning

Some new arithmetic lies in my upcoming future, since I assist with homework
Daily. Other writing ideas are popping into my mind but my family I can't shirk.
When I eventually have me-time again, I'll write more about the reality around me.
I hope my words will be inspired, from my very heart, but I'll have to wait and see.

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