One day pushes itself into the next.
Always some tasks left over
to seed the agenda of the future.
Mail waiting for stamps.
Mail waiting for addresses.
Some things can't happen on the net.
Like thank-yous,
and personal care bills,
and posting videos.
And washing.
Those colour sorted piles,
extended in rows across the basement floor,
lie dormant for tomorrow.
People to be consoled.
Errands to run.
A well-meant promise to be kept.
They stand like scarecrows
in a field of days
stretching to infinity.
There must be a reason why
I chose this,
rather than that,
like Frederick Bueckner,
climbing his study stairs
and turning his back on
visible suffering
to do what may be a higher good.
Or I may be fooling myself.
Missed the day for blogger's protest.
Really a whole day went missing.
What was I doing?
Ah, babysitting.
And is this Wednesday already?
Is there a point to getting started this week,
or should I just wait until next?
Can I pick up a paint brush?
Can I write a story?
Can I further my vision?
Can I concentrate on God?
Can I admit I'm angry?
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3 comments:
Oh Connie - awesome post, would love to hear more, especially about that last line.
Like Anj, Connie I would love to hear more about the last line. And yet as I read it again - somehow the last line is a piece of the puzzle in your mulling of the day.
This is good.
Q
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