I’ve fallen out of love with being a writer.
From grade six physics, blocks that sit on a table have potential energy, because they can fall to the floor. But once the blocks fall, hitting the floor, the potential energy is gone. Five years ago I was a block on the table. Now I’m on the floor and I am just spent. I am reading my faerie story to Tesfa and I just don’t like it. I don’t like what I’ve done. All that time and this is it. What a waste.
I don’t know what to do next.