Feeling swallowed my work; clawing your way through its belly like you're Pinocchio and the big whale. Burnt out and bulldozed.
That choking pre-work anxiety Creeps in like Sunday doom. Rain spits at window panes And boots line up by the front door, Caked in mud, smothered by weekend walks And forest frolicking. That insufferable discomfort Of wanting to do everything and yet nothing at the same time Creeps in like Sunday doom. Hours in front… Continue reading Sundays are the worst.