Oh yes, 'The Archers', George; stuff of nightmares.
I break out in an awful sweat.
I cannot sleep at night.
You won’t believe the state I get
myself into. The fright
envelops me till I can’t think;
I hyperventilate.
I pour myself another drink.
I’m terrified... THE DATE –
the date by which I have to send
a poem to the judge
is looming up. I haven’t penned
a word; my brain is sludge.
(This phobia – is it named yet?)
I also wonder whether
I would be cured if I could get
my bloody act together!