I’m not at all bothered about age, or numbers, or years. I don’t mind careering towards forty like a deranged lunatic. It is not as if there’s anything new in that.
I career, at many miles per hour, around my life, sometimes bumping into the pauses.
When I do, I breathe deep, suck it all down and off I go again.
I’ve got a year left of my thirties. A year of not taking paid work unless I’m getting paid to write. A year of only doing writing work. And because I don’t need any other challenges, I’m going to commit to posting a daily poem on my tumblr (created for the purpose).
Feedback is, as ever, welcomed.