I feel like I should apologize to someone -
because I haven't done much of anything lately.
I've been feeling numb,
starting things, and not finishing them...
I used to think it was just procrastination,
but I think it's a bit worse than that.
Got a ton of papers spread all around here,
boxes of stuff that I should sort out,
but it all sits here as if in long-term storage.
I've just been hanging around, killing time,
and trying not to think about things.
I've been taking a lot of naps lately,
because this is a way to hide from everything.
If I can escape to sleep, and the dreams don't come,
then that's a good thing,--
even though I know that it really isn't a good thing.
It's just a temporary holding pattern.
I've learned that when something is on my mind,
and I don't want to think about it,
I can stare off into nothing, just let my mind blank out,
while I sit there, not thinking about it...
Some would call it daydreaming,
but it's just another way to hide.
Whatever's bothering me won't really go away,
but for a while, it has... or I have.
You see, I let things bother me.
Little things, big things, even things that I can't do anything about.
I worry. It's like a career with me.
I've convinced myself that I have a lot to worry about,
and I'm right - just ask me - I'll tell you so.
All worry does, though, is mess things up
so my day goes to hell, I don't function well,
and I go through the motions, but I'm just existing.
No quality there - days get longer, even hours get longer,
and nothing gets done. Lots of nothing.
And all the time I don't even realize what I'm doing to myself.
Sometimes, like right now,
I can sit here and see it, even write about it,
and I can understand it a little bit.
And I tell myself that I finally have a handle on it,
and I will do whatever it takes to change things around.
But I know that tomorrow, or the next day,
or the day after that... it will start all over again.
I'll worry, and I'll wonder,- "...why bother...?"
It's sort of like hating yourself as an avocation...
It's what I do. -- I'm hooked...
and there isn't a 12-step program for this.
I need a nap now...
Comments on this poem/writing:
|Bipedalguy (184.108.40.206) -- Thursday, November 15 2007, 03:58 pm|
I'm a worrier.
We know well the futility of worrying about what we can do nothing about. I find myself wondering if there's really nothing I can do.
The best thing is we're in good company. Many great Americans (like Lincoln) are just like us. (My Great Grandfather met him in the Civil War, I just had to get that in.) The list of such people is a long one.
Your write is a very good one, and shows good self-analyses.
When I forget what I had been worrying about, it drives me crazy. I have to figure out what it was. Sometimes I keep a list to avoid forgetting.
|shiloh (220.127.116.11) -- Thursday, November 15 2007, 08:21 pm|
however, my gran'pa on my mama's side was general george picket. don't know how much of a claim to fame that is, considering gettysburg and all, but hey...
|Bipedalguy (18.104.22.168) -- Thursday, November 15 2007, 09:04 pm|
My great grandpa was just a supply sargeant. He probably met Lincoln prior to some battle. He was in a lot of 'em, including Antietem. My grandma pronounced it "an tee ah tem"
|shiloh (22.214.171.124) -- Friday, November 16 2007, 06:27 pm|
there ain't no such animal as "just a supply sergeant..." without that fellow, they'd have no uniforms, mules, hardtack, rations, powder or shot, or weapons. and the cooks would have nothing to cook, or to cook with. in some units the supply sergeant also served as the one who ladled out the beer, when it could be acquired, and also he served as the paymaster as assistant to the company commander. the old supply sgt, or "stores officer" as the noncom was called, was a most valued person in any unit back then. he even arranged for the farrier to take care of the horses that needed shoeing, or the doctor or dental work, -he arranged it. he also got the blacksmith or the leathersmith to camp.
|Bipedalguy (126.96.36.199) -- Friday, November 16 2007, 08:42 pm|
I used to like the C-rations. That was a bit of a surprise to me. They weren't half bad. "Supplies" are all important to an army.
Click here to read other Poems by Shiloh
Copyright©2017-1999 by Rebecca R. Hammack
COPYRIGHT NOTICE: All Rights Reserved. No part of this website, including all pictures and written words, may be reproduced or copied in any manner from this website without permission of the original author of the work. All poetry and pictures herein remain the sole property of the original author and/or copyright owner. All poetry on this website has been submitted by the original author of the work. To contact any author of the work please e-mail: firstname.lastname@example.org so the proper person may be notified.