Is it already 2019? How do the years jump past so fast?
Is this a poem or a post?
Is my brain on overdrive or overwork?
Will the sound of a train in the distance elicit sweet memories or trauma?
Everything is questionable.
Nothing is certain.
I woke up this morning to a sweet sensation of connection
And immediately questioned how long that would last.
I had dreams upon dreams
But they all slipped away.
I called the therapist
But she doesn’t have time
And the Company Doctor
can see me on Friday, is that a small yay?
One minute I think ‘all is fine, I can do this’
Next minute I’m choked up and my brain is buzzing.
My ears are warm
My heart is pumping
My eyes are blurring – it could be the contacts – they should be changed soon.
I read through my inbox just now.
Searching desperately for word from the Happy Goddessa who promises me that in 21 days I’ll have positive change. But her email isn’t here, and I don’t know
if I have the energy to fix her bugs.
I can hardly fix my own.
The meditation for sleep last night worked wonders
Along with the purple sleeping pill
And my newly decorated bed stand.
And no TV time, for a change.
Helping myself to get to a good place.
What’s wrong with you, Audrey?
That gremlin shouts.
Just do what you have to.
They are suffocating me – all these obligations.
I have an overpowering need to break free
To do something completely different
For a change.
But it’s so stormy outside,
I don’t dare face the weather.
I turn up the heat and drink tea
And a smoothie
And think about going out.
And I do some of what I have to do.
I read my mails.
Most of my mails.
Some I ignore.
Some I can’t handle.
Thankfully, the battery on my laptop dies. It’s a respite.
There are too many questions.
Too many people with too many needs
Requests, more obligations.
Things to do.
They can carry me under
Like the undertow
On a sunny day,
When you think that
All is fine
And go out for a swim
In the warm, calm waters
Can’t return to shore, no matter how hard you try
Can’t shout because no one is listening.
Or if they hear you, they don’t understand what the problem is.
After all, you’re a great swimmer, aren’t you?
The chest is achy. Not the chest. It’s mine.
My chest. There’s a brick on top of it.
I’m stuffed with stuffing.
I’m a turkey roast
But not as tasty.
Turkey roasts just wait to be roasted
I hate waiting, so that can’t be me.
Crisis occurs when things need to change.
Okay, I’m ready.
Here I am.