A Stone's Throw From Opinionsville

This photo shows a close-up photo of part of a...

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Enough Is Enough.”

There’s a towel in every damned day that goes by when I keep trying until I won’t fail.

But for every day of perceived failure, I succeed in learning something new. When that happens, I get up from my self–imposed retreat on the comfy sofa where I hope to read myself to death or re–awaken with a new appetite for what I think I was cut out to do oh so many years ago.

If not for the giant wet blanket, I would probably not need one towel, much less several gross of spares. Asking someone for advice as to how to deal with it gets an answer something like this: Deal with it; work your way through it; it takes intestinal fortitude… Platitudes!

My secret way of dealing with it is to come apart in big ways when nobody is around to experience this dramatic thing: I get up, stalk the length and width of my writing space, slathering and roaring out creative expeletives. The benefits outweigh the risks in that I breathe heavily, which is something I forget to do while working.

If there is a final towel to throw in, it won’t be done by me. That’s some comfort in itself.

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