Worry/Weary

This is the picture I should have posted yesterday.  Princess of the Rodeo.  Well. . . I've not been hitting on all cylinders.  Only three, really.

Like many people I know, I am weary.  I am world weary and weather weary and work weary.  The Three Wearies I shall dub them.  I am ready for a Weary Free Zone.  A zone of no worry.  There must be a poem there.  I leave it to others to figure that out.

I work, and I pay people to work.  Why do I feel so guilty?  I can't do everything myself.  It is impossible.  Still, they work for the price they quote and then they tell me it is more difficult than they thought and then they act glum and I think I should help them.  The painter is working on the house as I write.  I am sitting in my underwear and a t-shirt drinking coffee and reading and writing.  But he will be gone early in the afternoon, perhaps frolicking in a pool or lying in his own underwear reading a book while I am sitting at my desk at the factory.

And still. . . .

I am Jewish.  I know I am.  I am not officially, but culturally, surely.  My father was a worrier.  I am a worrier, too.