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Get up feeling as if you’ve crossed ten time zones, And look at the trail of devastation left from last night. The room needs tidying, the cats demand to be fed. And the trek to the kitchen feels like eternity. Mission control has gone AWOL again. So parts of the body are left to fend for themselves. Objects leap out and trip and walls nudge as you stagger past Into the once known territory where meals are prepared. From the kitchen window the summer garden should look lovely. But the colours are dim today and the lawn gapes its threat. Stay inside the... but leave the door open... feel the air... Let the sounds of other people’s lives filter through to stab the heart. The piles ironing glares out accusingly, the redundant iron sobs. In the cupboard the vacuum vibrates with indignation. How many days since it was out and about? The house is a prison of self-imposed torment. Better the devil you know than the horrors outside, Whose forms are many and various, the hideous music... The interminable queue... getting lost in the shop... And the Arch demon of all: Bewildered Condescension. So you plod through the day with rewards and rests, With distractions and diversions and diverse alarums. And you try to de-rail the engine of your thoughts From the railroad of self-destruction.
04th August 2000
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