Removing the covers,
Sitting up, standing.
Opening and walking through two doors,
getting on with the washing up.
Updating the to-do whiteboard that still hasn’t been attached to the wall,
which I imagined I’d do when it fell off of the fridge.
I imagine picking up the scatterings of hair that decided to leave me
from around the bathroom.
I imagine that today I’ll water the plants properly,
or maybe tomorrow.
12 more hours won’t hurt.
I imagine that I’ll just trim the leaves and blooms that have died, which will make room for new ones to blossom anyway.
It’s not too hard to straighten the sofa throw.
I imagine I’ll do it in a little bit.
When I feel more up to it.
Last night I did the scary and wonderful thing of getting up in front of a bunch of people at an open mic poetry evening, and read a couple of my poems. This was one of them. I feel that today, especially, it feels like the right poem to publish.
I wrote this a while back, when I was basking in my anxiety about not getting anything done due to depression or laziness or procrastination or whatever reason I want to assign to not being able to get anything done. And, tonight, today, this week, I’ve been feeling some of that anxiety again. I’ve been having a busy time, my calendar full of activities – writing, climbing, spending time with beautiful people – but I’m feeling a little sad about my inability to write something worth saying. So, I guess, this is what I want to say right now – that sometimes I can’t really do much and that’s just a part of life. I think I’ll just go have a bath.