Balm

One morning you wake up and are just not right. The early morning light looks metallic. You understand that this will be a mechanical day spent going through the motions, waiting, waiting. You try to write. The faucet drips, the second hand on the analog clock seems amplified. For a second, the two sounds coincide. There is so much to do, you think. You've left things undone and it is all adding up. Suddenly, money worries you. You do not have enough to cover all the expenses, but you are thinking about buying a luxury item, something to make yourself feel better. For the millionth time in your adult life, you tell yourself that you will have to become more self-sufficient. You've done it before, painting your own house, building your own deck (always with the help of someone who knows what he is doing), but you fall away from it time and again. You must buy and spread twenty yards of mulch, you think without joy. It will cost you eight hundred dollars AND two days of labor. The yard needs work. You must weed, another weekend lost. The yard man chops off the heads of your sprinklers on a regular basis, and as always you tell yourself that you will learn how to fix them. Everyone says that it is easy, but you can always find ways to make things hard. You need a new car and the money guys on television say it is a great time to buy one, but you want to keep your old car running another year. Not just old, but really old. Seat covers, you think, and maybe someone can fix those patches of rust. The floor in the kitchen needs to be replaced. The house needs a new roof. The neighbors don't have these problems, the doctors, lawyers, and architects. They look so happy.  You watch the anesthesiologist across the street pull away in his Benz. Time has not made things easier. Your mind is made of lead. Sand pours through your veins. It should have been different, you say. You've made mistakes. It is hopeless. You are certain you will buy the luxury item today.