i thought i could

i just keep thinking things should be perfect.

here i am on a sunny blustery morning sitting in my favourite turquoise nightgown on my boyfriends bed. He's feverishly writing an essay due friday with his curly hair still damp from the shower. It's my day off. I have toast with honey in my hand and two weeks til I go home for Christmas.

And I am supposed to be working on a serious job application. One I feel is way out of my league, but have been recommended for by people at the Book Trust and other influential and important artsy places. I am flattered they think I am capable of running the book festival, but it scares the shit out of me even if I didn't hate the self aggrandizing sycophantic balance of the job hunt proper to begin with.
.
So here I am, in what seems like the best of all possible worlds and am paralyzed by doubt and dread. I just have to keep telling myself it'll get better. But sometimes I don't feel like the little engine that could anymore.