Monday, April 14, 2008

Taxes and budgets and bills and boxes-in-piles and dirty clothes and hunger and pestilence and software and the future and

If I could invent a new word for how overwhelmed I feel right now I would say it OUTLOUD and the air would smell like a car accident and the sky would arch away. Gazing that far upward you would wobble and cease to be at all comforted.

My head starts hurting every time my phone rings and when I pull in front of my house I sit there hanging onto every word of radio news because I can't yet go inside where all those things need doing, maybe better to take my foot off the brake and roll quietly away before engaging the clutch.

But I didn't again today. I came back into the house and shuffled through the rooms in a stupor muttering my new word, doing none of those things at all but wishing it was time to go to bed in the way where sleep is a metaphor for death.

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