Ptooey. I'm feeling nauseous.
The only that helps is knowing that I always feel this dichotic paranoia about my work. Because some things in it are piercingly lovely. And some things in it are crap. The secret is to trust both of my instincts, to love it and hate it, to not block those feelings, but use them to make it all better.
If I didn't love it, I couldn't go on.
If I didn't hate it, I couldn't change it.
So. Up. Down. Up.
Until today, when I let it go and submitted it.
I wish I could join you for Poetry Friday tomorrow, but I'm going to enjoy a day of rest after the ride. See you next week.