Yoke

I had a very, very bad day yesterday.  It was very, very bad.  I mean not like the worst day of my life bad, but pretty rock bottom.  I don’t even want to talk about all the horrible, repulsive, repugnant things that led to the bad day. And it wasn’t just the things that happened yesterday, it was everything building up, like the detritus of leaves and sediment clogging a storm drain; I was cut off, empty on one side and flooded on the other.   The detritus in my life is rejection. I am endlessly pitching a story, submitting an essay, applying for writing fellowships and asking (begging, pleading) for someone to read my words. My inbox is a pile of thanks but no thanks and close but no cigar rubble. There are notes that begin, “we want to thank you so much” and end with “due to all the emails we get we cannot reply,” which really means “do not contact again loser.” Really, they should just ghost me and block me.  Rejection is a kind of failure; but I know, I know the only certain failu