On my mind is an editor who's really putting me through hoops to get into his journal, a nice juicy one that would open a lot of other doors.
On my mind are thoughts like, "He knows what a coup it is to get in his magazine, and that's why he's being so persnickety," or "This poem must be horrible if he's making so many changes," or "Why didn't X or Y or any other of my poet friends tell me it needed this much work—is everyone just being nice to me???"
And then I take some control over what's on my mind, and calm myself down, and smile at my good fortune.
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