I've Come to Realize

Sundays are never as productive as you claim they'll be when you decide to watch a movie at midnight on Saturday.

There's a signboard looming on the horizon, fading in and out of view thanks to the desert air of this hairpin-straight road I'm on, that seems to say "Face it: you're not cut out to be a writer of anything but scholarly analyses, so stop kidding yourself and pretending you can make it as a poet," and I'm just plodding along in its direction, knowing it's there but too scared of its truth to try to knock it down.