I found this little nugget in a notebook from my Crisis Intervention class from grad school. I like it. But mostly, I like that I don't feel like this anymore. :).
"This is the moment where I haven't
been writing for hours but
my wrist hurts.
This is the point at which I think
'damn, I'm not running
fast enough' in a dream.
These are the somatic aches, caused
not by physical pain but
mental, friggin, anguish.
My pace is hampered by exhaustion.
I look around and see ability, agility,...
Is it my motivation?
Is it my genetically defunct circulation?
Yesterday's precipitation?
Outside forces' agitation?
Practically paralyzed, I realize
I wrote again.
My flower in the cold stiff weeds
of my over-scheduled, over-processed, under-indulged
lifestyle.
Oh, no. Does this mean two years from now
I'll be hunched over my desk
between two cubicle walls and yell
'You told me we weren't doing this forever!'?
'Calm down', I say.
No sense in getting mad at yourself.
It's just another day, in the life of me, in my
Crisis State."
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