never letting me forget my failures,
proving my laziness is real and impossible to overcome.
My default network of neurons,
moving along their usual neural paths,
the ruts so deep I can’t stop the hopeless narrative.
Another day, then a week, and soon months pass,
I grow roots around my couch,
and let the distractions paralyze me.
Is it only substance,
the smoke and drink,
numbing my limbs into apathy?
Or maybe it’s the devices,
their media luring me to escape my bully,
an endless scroll feeding my wish for happiness to be so easy.
The jealousy soon sets in,
feeling slatternly compared to such overachievement,
acquiescing bitter acceptance of my mediocrity.
The dishes are dirty,
stacked high in the sink and across the granite counter,
my floor littered with paper bags overflowing with glass bottles and aluminum cans.
The pets are bored,
having to wait too long for the attention they deserve.
The plants are dying,
thirsty in their neglect
and wishing for more light.
The mail is unopened,
a mountain of letters on the table,
leaving no place to eat.
Bills are unpaid,
the final notices and collector calls,
threatening to undo my good name.
Messages go unanswered,
check-in calls are ignored,
connection with those I love is denied.
The loneliness builds
into a final crying fit,
despair begetting a shouting rant of exhaustion.
I’m so tired!
Tired of feeling this way!
Tired of wasting my life!
Tired of wishing for more!
Tired of letting myself down!
Tired of hiding from love!
Fed up, I retract my roots and get off the couch.
I quit the vices.
I stop scrolling and put my phone down.
I clean my kitchen and take out the trash.
I feed my pets and water the plants.
I open the mail and pay my bills.
I sit in stillness and feel my mothering angel love me.
I write my heart out.
And I begin to feel better, for now.