"Dear Playwright"

Is how the email I got this morning reads. Needless to say, it's a rejection. Well, not a rejection, since it was for a competition, but a "you didn't get shortlisted, but these people did!" email. Hmmm, I guess that is a rejection. Not my favourite way to start the day, but it happens. And the finalists' plays do sound interesting. But I had managed to put this particular competition out of my mind, since it was such a long shot, so it wasn't a rejection that I was expecting. I do have an expected rejection whose arrival I am checking my inbox for daily. Who says the creative life isn't glamourous? My cold lingers. The body system that is most affected seems to be the part responsible for motivation--going to the gym, running errands, getting out of bed. The part of my brain that stops me from lying on the couch and taking the tater tot cure is withering.