frustration is seeping into every pore.
my waking and sleeping thoughts center around I can do more than this.
and yet i'm caught in this hold of 9-5 ( 7-7 with the commute)
with no hope of out
and every fear that it is here that i will perish.
when i know i know i know
that i am more than this
each day is precious; another chance to prove to myself that which i already know
that which is the thin strand of hope
which i wearily brush now and then
when the frustration is too great
for now: plans, lists, a checklist of my strengths and weaknesses, French, a website design, photos, running and the potters wheel: oh, the wheel that precious wheel, a pen, paper, and hermiting until this frustration works itself out.
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