Perhaps, because I’m reading
Dust bunnies scamper across my floors
hiding beneath tables, gathering behind doors.
Perhaps, because I’m reading
Dishes stack into tall piles
and papers are exploding in spurts, beyond their files.
Perhaps, because I’m reading
I ignore the telephone,
but then, because I’m reading,
I’m content within my home.
It’s not small.
It overwhelms.
Unending paper piles
proliferate in the night.
A day’s work
becomes a week’s.
Somewhere under there
is order,
but it will take more
excavation.
.
.
.
I’ve been cleaning and re-organizing my office space. Made some progress after a week, but it’s not there yet. Arg.
What task do you have that seems to expand when you’re not looking?
Housework:
incessant chore
detracting from fun
and always
always
always
still to do.
But at least
I have
a house.
.
.
I hate housework. From my messy room as a kid to my messy desks (at home and at work) I epitomize chaos theory. I want to use my time to create, so there is something to show for it. Since housework never ends, one is never satisfied with the task, which inevitably dissolves.
Shawn L. Bird 