Planned Obsolescence, or Always the Bridesmaid

Yesterday was a hard day.

1. I had resolved to go into the office, to see people I'm friendly with, but who I had not seen in months. My social anxiety flares.
2. I decided to shop beforehand, granted it was just for groceries and office supplies (being out of #10 envelopes as the impetus), but still I had to descend into the maddening psychosis of pre-Christmas.
3. Nervousness about embarking on test two of a new semi-social engagement (which I'm too shy to mention outright until it clearly takes) had me in knots most of the afternoon as well. And
4. I received 4 rejections, including one from West Branch where I sent a few poems TEN days ago. Generally they filter in one at a time. Four is a little harsh in a day. Four times being told I suck (okay, I know that's not what they say. But maybe they should. If I ran a magazine, maybe I'd just have a little note that said either "You Suck" or "You Rock" depending on which way things went in the editorial office). Then I got another email rejection in the afternoon.

The rejections, combined with the fact that I had spent some of the morning getting other things (both fiction and poems) ready to go out, made me think that maybe I'd hold off on sending anything else out for awhile. Every now and then the administrative aspect takes over, usually when I'm not feeling so good about the actual writing. So then it becomes something I can do INSTEAD of writing, which is not a good. I resolved to take a break from submitting things, because sometimes I feel like it does have an ill effect, enough for me to want to feel super indy again, as in a who-cares-what-the-rest-of-the-world-thinks focus on just me and my intimate dance with words and sentences.

Today I saw another thin envelope with my handwriting on it and I cringed. But it was the kind of no that gets me running again. One of those book-length poetry contests I thought I had no chance in hell at, called my manuscript "wonderful" and "strong", a semi-finalist.