One Hundred and Sixty Two

It hasn't gone away.

I thought it would.
Actually...
I don't know if I honestly thought it would.
I know I was okay if it didn't come back.
I think I'm still okay if it doesn't come back.
I don't think I need it, back.

It hasn't gone away, my second guesses about programs. It hasn't gone away, my exhaustion with all of it. It hasn't gone away, my laissez-faire attitude towards writing for the stage. This feeling of not wanting to study writing, day in and day out. This unstoppable feeling of placing writing so much farther down my list of worries, and cares, and priorities.
It isn't that it isn't important.
It isn't that I had a traumatic experience.
It isn't that I'm scared of rejection. (I don't think.)

I think I've just lost a bit of care.
I think I've genuinely lost care, in it.
I think I just don't
want

to wake up every morning
and have to write
have to improve
have to listen to what people say about these words.


That doesn't sound fun, anymore.
And it doesn't sound important, to me.
and I know I've felt this way for a while.
And it hasn't gone away.