I am tired from a day of doing nothing, though I did do some things, it just seems like these things I did were nothing sorts of things.
It was long ago when I made a pot of soup though it was only this morning. It was long ago when I paid the rent, though it was only this noon. It was long ago that I touched my husband, though it was only last night. It was long ago that I yelled at the kids though it was only a minute ago. I couldn't wake up this morning. I set my alarm for six and kept hitting the snooze, and I slept and dreamed for a long time, dreaming about, I don't know exactly, some place, some beach, that was surrounded by hills of empty houses that terrified me, though there was someone there at the beach with me who I liked very much, but I couldn't see exactly who because the sun was too bright even though the day was gray and stormy. I woke and picked up a book and read something disturbing and laughed and put it down again.
And now my mind is running around like a spassy little dog caught on the end a rusty chain.
I've been irritable lately and not calm. I've gotten irritated about photographs and memories and food left out on the counter. I've been irritable about shoes, and I haven't been able to focus the way I think I should. I start to write and decide I'd rather read. I read and decide I'd rather play drums. I play drums and think maybe I should take a walk or sit on the porch and do nothing. I do nothing and think maybe I should write about doing nothing.
But then I grow so tired I can't keep my eyes open and my mind unscrambles and so I end up writing nothing about nothing. Which is an alright thing. Considering.
It was long ago when I made a pot of soup though it was only this morning. It was long ago when I paid the rent, though it was only this noon. It was long ago that I touched my husband, though it was only last night. It was long ago that I yelled at the kids though it was only a minute ago. I couldn't wake up this morning. I set my alarm for six and kept hitting the snooze, and I slept and dreamed for a long time, dreaming about, I don't know exactly, some place, some beach, that was surrounded by hills of empty houses that terrified me, though there was someone there at the beach with me who I liked very much, but I couldn't see exactly who because the sun was too bright even though the day was gray and stormy. I woke and picked up a book and read something disturbing and laughed and put it down again.
And now my mind is running around like a spassy little dog caught on the end a rusty chain.
I've been irritable lately and not calm. I've gotten irritated about photographs and memories and food left out on the counter. I've been irritable about shoes, and I haven't been able to focus the way I think I should. I start to write and decide I'd rather read. I read and decide I'd rather play drums. I play drums and think maybe I should take a walk or sit on the porch and do nothing. I do nothing and think maybe I should write about doing nothing.
But then I grow so tired I can't keep my eyes open and my mind unscrambles and so I end up writing nothing about nothing. Which is an alright thing. Considering.
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