Failed Weekend

I had one poem based on the January 6th committee. I wanted to write and submit it on Friday.

If I stayed late at work, I could have done it.

I left early to buy a product we didn't need until last night.

I could have bought it at any time this weekend.

I could have written the poem on Saturday. Instead, I did a chore that ended up not needing to be done.

This is the worst kind of procrastination. The kind that feels like productivity when it's not.

Sunday, I finally wrote the poem and sent it to the one place that could have published it in anything resembling a timely fashion.

This Monday morning, the publication published someone else, 

I found out this morning on Twitter that the publication already have a poet for Tuesday. It's not me. 

I'm expecting another No but good luck response later today.

If so, I have only myself to blame. 

Nobody did this to me. I did this to me. 

No one benefited from my initiative to be a good worker. 

I don't benefit anymore when I try to ohard to make anyone happy.

If my work is rejected, all I have from my weekend efforts is a poem that probably doesn't work anymore. 

Nothing good for me happens unless I will it into being.

No one is going to pick up my slack.

If it doesn't happen, it's because I didn't make it happen.