i could've gone around

 My anxiety is a brick wall with a cartoon impression of my head in the center. I run headlong into my anxiety so much you can see the collection of grout on the ground. I back up and take another crack at it. My anxiety is now a brick wall with a head impression and a thousand tiny stars. They call it progress. They say it has to get worse for it to get better. Keep it up. Keep going. Keep grinding because that's the way forward. Keep the momentum. Put your nose to the grindstone. Keep your shoulder to the wheel. Useless euphemisms to the rescue. My anxiety is a brick wall of terminological inexactitudes. It doesn't lie, it skirts the truth. It's alternative facts in a bucket like chum for the brick sharks, and I go again. The bricks collapse. Is that broken neck a lucky break? They ask why I didn't just go around.

Go around? They never said I could go around. Now I'm covered in a pile of bricks and they say it's the latest tech in weighted blankets. FUCK!

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Ringmaster of an Empty Big Top

"The elephant went rogue,” is what the journalist wrote, “Inciting fear in the hearts of the populace!” What they failed to explain was the pachyderm’s pain And how tired she was of being abused. It was no sudden thing; she just left the ring. But let’s face it, her needs were always second to yours. Did you think your chains were what bound her?   The barkers have all scarpered with the day’s receipts While the monkeys played keep-away on the flying trapeze, ignoring the ringmaster’s orders with the greatest of ease. And the clowns in their car, the drunken little lechers, Carried off the lion tamer’s wife while the lion made a nosh of the tamer’s entrails. The cages are empty; the geeks have all flown. And the ringmaster sits in the spotlight alone.
Read more

Darth Mom

 I feel the pressure of your aggressively passive presence like a disturbance in the Force. You never say what you really mean; I can sense your spite a bitter bite of blight, the essence of a sour disposition.   You haunt this house, not really living. Judge, jury, and executioner in a week-worn nightgown. You’re my straitjacket, my fitting room mirror; I never want to see myself through you. 
Read more

you had one job, America

                 November 5th, we, the American people, had a chance to protect the rights and safety of women and our most vulnerable citizens. We failed. As an American citizen in possession of a uterus, humanist values, and a firm democratic socialist worldview, I am qualified to discuss this pervasive sense of disappointment and loss following the Presidential election. The performance of our civic duty has always been important, but there have been only a handful of times it has been crucial to stand on the correct side of history against fascism.  This brief commentary is the projection of my fear for the future of our teetering democracy. It’s my initial act of resistance. It’s a cry of alarm, asking decent folks, who maybe made their decision in the ballot box out of fear, to finally wake up and ask, “What have we done?”     You had one job, America I love to watch classic sitcoms and movies, especially...
Read more