Because I cannot do 500 words a day every morning and well, frankly, wonder at those who do. From my files (circa 2008, long before this blog.)
I hate it that I am so sporadic
Inconsistent, not persistent,
no straight ahead in a line to the finish.
I’m distracted, side-tracked
Stops and starts, mis-matched piles,
Can’t remember the whats and whens.
No perfect files, labeled loudly
I A M I N C O N T R O L.
I feign at neatness, completeness escaping me
Ever in process, a mess in the making.
Oh, why can’t I be like those orderly others,
Those finishers perfectly packing their lives in a box,
the rank and file, who smile
at me, “Oh poor thing, she’s so erratic.”
I am resigned to the wholeof me,
My hits and misses
Marking a difference,
Scattering joy, seeds abound.
I cannot ( do not) go in a straight line—
Random A to B then on to Z.
(Sequences only happen on a test.)
And life is an actual emergency
I like this formula better:
A cubed to D once plus E squared
then back to A and jump to N, then
I’m the only one
Who can spell my life
and write it down….
Now where’s my pen?