Which Way Did They Go?

by
Florence Ondré

What's Saturday doing here? Wasn't that yesterday?
I’m fairly sure that's when I woke up with weekend to-do lists in my head.
So, what's it doing on my plate today?
It's brain boggling how days can get lost like errant socks in the wash. They must be in the tumbler on spin cycle of my mind.
There's where I need a repair person.
Ratchet my grey matter up a notch or rev the world down. I don't know which would give more ability to keep things like days of the week in a more orderly fashion. Time's a blur right now. I can barely keep two thoughts together in a semblance of shape. There’s so much busyness; cacophony of chores calling, “Me first. Me first!”
Days become night before I get half of what I'd like to accomplish done. Dinner slips into an 8-ish slot and heartburn makes a frequent P.M. visit as I barely get the pots and pans washed and put away.
If I hit the couch, I'm a goner; waking up in some wee hour with drool on my cheek, a crimp in my neck and permanent eyeglass pinch marks on the bridge of my nose.
Now that's attractive!
Of course, by that time, I'm up. And getting to sleep is either a stumbling-up-the-stairs-fall-into-bed-like-a-stone affair; mumbling like my father used to when Mom caught him napping, “I lay down for a minute. Was just resting my eyes,” or my peepers are wide open like someone toothpick propped them. No rest for the weary. Good time to write.
Everything is still. Nothing to deter me from getting words together. No one to blame for interruptions in the creative flow.
..................And my mind's a blank.