A short life but a —- one?

I am spending the hours before breakfast in reading the entries for Trifecta 69. There is little time left before the voting closes and I want to do a good and honest job of it.

It is not easy.

I have 83 entries to read, comment on if I feel moved to, and then select my three best and vote on them. All at the same time as feeding the dogs, planning lunch, filling the dishwasher, getting the laundry on and preparing breakfast for the working man in the house.

The thing is, I find myself losing the will to live with a proportion of the efforts. I can’t even make it through the first paragraph with some of the very derivative stuff.  It is unfair of me, I know. The maximum allowed word count is only 333. I just find myself intolerantly clicking the X and moving on.

It’s rather as when I began reading All The Pretty Horses. Para one flagged up the awful writing and half of para 2 saw me exiting the book. I decided that life is way too short to spend time on a bad book.

Yesterday I wrote about how, when I was young, I would read absolutely anything and everything.

I am wondering where that girl went and when I began to think that life is too short for poor reading. After all, I am more than capable of testing the patience of others with my attempts at prose, and even poetry. Fair does, and all that. I try to be Mrs Do As You Would Be Done By in most things.

Can it be simply the impending Significant Birthday, and its accompanying bout of Mortality Awareness? I would hate to think so.

My apologies to you if I failed to “get” you writing and I  moved on, disinterested. It isn’t “me”.  Not really.

There is an irritant somewhere. I should get to the bottom of it.


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