Eaten alive.


It's an anxiety thing. Comes back every spring.
Fresh foundations for some; new beginnings.
A crumbling false sense of security found hiding in bed all winter for me.
Store the winter coats and heavy boots in the back of the closet,
with my hopes that the world really will be okay.
So a glass of wine, benson and hedges and mumford and sons in a bubble bath....
and maybe tomorrow I'll have the strength to face another year of unachievements.
Before I go back home to tell my mother I, yet again, have nothing to offer.
"there's always next year!"
"you said that last year."

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