Write or die?

Haven’t written in a long time. Feel like I’m being strangled by self doubt. Doesn’t help that i have a family who believes fighting is life. Reading Plath whose single-minded goal is something I envy. I dont have any goals other than surviving in a greedy society that traps the workers into a never ending cycle of work or die so that the upper classes can be lazy and recline.

I am at the age where women begin to disappear from society; only the young are wanted and seen as viable. I become more insular as I shrink from this truth and have no wish to bow down to the notion that older women are sexless and useless. Why are men dynamic through old age and women are not considered so? This society rips open petty jealousies that divide women by focusing on what “work” JLo has “had done” to look youthful into her fifties and whether she should have had it. Meanwhile the reason JLo is having the work done is ignored. She’s doing it because society demands agelessness and sees age as the enemy.

Still bored with B., I crave stimulating conversation and get none. People are so angry these days and angry that they don’t know what they’re angry about but are being manipulated by propaganda, Russian, American, etc.,

I bury myself in trivialities and work. I know I have blessings, but the list now seems like a cheap panacea. What if I did have companionship? Would I tíre of it become bored with it? Can I never be satisfied?

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About Me

poet, diarist, writer, teacher, woman, fragile, strong, northern life is my domicile, my barbaric yawp exudes against the tide


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