Splendiferous Conventionality

Just a short quip. Not much time before I have to leave. I don't want to go today. I want to sleep. The fire under my butt went out... or is dimmed anyway. I feel lazy. I feel unmotivated. I feel secluded. I feel defeated. I feel lost. I feel remote. I feel old. Speaking of this-- old. I see aging. I look down at my hands as they lay gracefully along the keyboard, and as they flit from letter to letter, announcing my thoughts-- and I see age. Creases, wrinkles, lines, pleats, crinkles, time and history. I recognize them on my face- on my furrowed brow, along my smile, tracing age from my eyes. I never thought I'd be concerned with this-- well, not never but not at my age. Just barely into thirties. Yet, it is there, and often I look down at my aging hands and am reminded of my mortality. That time continues on faster and faster, and each day I age a little more... and what I have I done with these thirty (one) years? Who am I? Where am I going? What have I done? I worry these ...

My table, currently, is the perfect analogy of my life... piles of things to be done; homework, kids' papers, bills to pay, receipts; window cleaner, a bottle of Pledge and some paper towels; a hammer, two dead batteries, some medicine, and approximately four broken items in desperate need of some serious super glue. All these things remain on the table... no one is fixing, gluing, paying, filing, or giving any attention to these things... they sit and collect dust and past due notices... the table, like me, is overwhelmed. There are too many things to fix; too many pieces to match up to their broken spots; too many things to keep straight and organize-- I want to take my long, gangly arm and sweep these things on to the floor- watching with glee as they tumble onto the floor with various degrees of sounds- CRASH BANG THUMP CLATTER- batteries roll under the couch, the cat chases the roll of paper towels, papers flit and flutter until they finally find a new home amongst the wood fl...