22 June 2006

Morning has broken...

I’m supposed to be getting ready for work. I don’t want to. You can't make me.

What I am doing is looking at some great new blogs. They are linked on my site. Bad Guitar and Haiku Ambulance.

I am thinking how sad it is that I can’t figure out how to get paid to sit home naked, or in my red robe on chilly days, and swing in my hammock listening to white-throated sparrows, juncos and goldfinches trilling, chirping and per-chick-a reeing away all morning. Or reading. Me, not the birds (but who knows what they do in the privacy of their own branches.)

Or making arty things or napping.

But I can’t figure out how to get paid to do those things and so I will haul myself out of this 1940s swivel, desk chair for which I paid 7 dollars and get dressed. And go to work. And listen to stories about 2 month old babies being literally snatched out of mother’s arms and are now being held hostage; being strangled and waking up in the ER; or raped unconcious by your own boyfriend and how the DA can’t win the cases or it’s not against the law anyway.

I will think about and mime, several times during the day, shoving a pencil into my left temple until it comes out the other side. I will not do it. I will go home and eat ice cream for dinner and wonder why I am over weight.

I will think about developing heathier coping strategies. I will wish I’d written “If I had a Rocket Launcher” but be glad that Bruce Cockburn did.

Someone had to.

4 comments:

gb herron said...

Crow! Crow!

Morning is not broken.
Heart is broken,
spirit broken, maybe.

Morning is not broken.
Take refuge there,
as you know how to do.

Lee Hartsfeld said...

I'm assuming there isn't a line on your resume that reads "Looking for fun work."

I admire your spirit and commitment. Your line of work ain't for sissies. And you ain't one. Coincidence? (<:


Lee

patrick said...

hang in there. you're fighting the good fight. at least what you do has meaning beyond the machinations of the economy. and, like the man said...

i want to raise every voice,
at least I've got to try.
every time I think about it,
water rises to my eyes.
situation desperate,
echoes of the victims cry.
if I had a rocket launcher...
some son of a bitch would die.

CrimsonCrow said...

Thanks all for your comments and concerns.

I assure you, I am OK. The words were a snapshot in time. A truth telling inspired by a post I read on Haiku Ambulance. It was refreshingly honest and I felt like being honest for a few moments, also.

The graphic content of shoving a pencil...(pencil pushing: get it?) is the kind of dark, black, whacked humor we use everyday for coping. And the broken morning reference was to a Cat Stevens song. I thought the irony obvious. Oh, well.

Be more concerned if you don't hear from me for weeks on end and I didn't report an upcoming vacation.

All that said: don't ever stop caring or hesitate to ask if you are concerned!