Yuck, Anyway

Today’s one of those days where I don’t quite know what to do with myself. There’s any number of things which I could do, and even more that I should do, but I remain at a loss for which of them, if any, I will do. Consequently, I feel a nagging sense that I’m missing out on something combined with an annoying perception that I’m getting in trouble for not holding up my end. It’s like I’m skipping a meeting that I didn’t want to go to anyway.

I have a fear that this is what retirement will be like. I dread having my days stretch out before me so open-ended and fraught with possibilities that I end up unable to do anything.

Clearly, there can be no more self-indulgent state than this. All I need do is get on my bike and ride a few blocks and I will surely discover needs to be filled all over the place. For that matter, if I’m serious about this, then I could go mop the floor. Maybe the house I retire in will be very clean, at the very least.

Back in the day, when I felt like this, I would write a poem. These days, even reading one seems to be more than I can stomach. Maybe I’ll go to the library. Maybe I’ll get stoned. Maybe I’ll shave. The possibilities are endless. And that’s just the problem.

My kid gets all thorny and pissed-off when she’s bored. I guess I do, too. Only instead of drawing on the furniture, I scribble on the screen. Either way, I’m just filling space until I feel like I’ve done enough to deserve some sort of break.

“Break from what?” you might ask. For that, I have no satisfying answer. A break from myself, I might say. But my ongoing attempts to escape from the person I am continue to fail. I’m still here, whether I like it or not.