Thursday, December 11, 2014
Am I a writer or a ball?
Too much to do that people expect me to do that I don't feel like doing.
Too much to do that I want to do but can't start or finish.
Too much that was fun but is no longer fun.
Too many books unread and unwritten.
Too many bills that I can't pay.
Too much news I can't stand.
Too little to look forward to.
Too little tolerance.
Too little energy.
Too little time.
Too little joy.
Is this depression, sadness, pissed-offedness? Sometimes I seem like a ball on a pool table, bouncing around and reacting, not initiating action.
I still have a tear in my right eye from a Bob Edwards interview on the radio over an hour ago.
I have to pee but lack the motivation to stand up and go to the john.
Some body parts always hurt. Others have no sensation. My typing is filled with errors caused by my brain malfunctioning, not by sloppy typing.
Have I lost "it?" Where/why did "it" go?
Have I finally, at age 68, passed from middle age to old?
Why did I type this instead of finishing writing three long-past-due books?
Will reading this help me? Can I give myself a good kick in the ass?