Getting Through The Day

Another Day Begins

Oh shit.

I gave up

on lying in bed

awake.

Another day begins,

and I have nothing for it,

and it has nothing for me.

Since it’s still another

couple of hours

until the autumn dawn,

the wait until the time

when I can start

to pursue oblivion

seems interminable.

Oh shit.

                 Rough Morning

It wasn’t one of my better mornings.

My body temperature kept shifting

from too hot to too cold and back.

My skin temperature was all over the place, too,

and rarely in synch with that of my innards.

Sometimes my belly and my head felt too hot

at the same time that my back and feet felt too cold.

Pins and needles intermittently shot around my body.

My heart rate sped up and slowed down at random.

I had an upset stomach.

Concentrating was, of course, impossible.

My morale was nonexistent,

and for the first time in memory

I failed to take a morning walk

when it wasn’t pissing down rain.

Some days are better than others.

That morning was one of the others.

              Evenings

I don’t do evenings.

With the soft magic

that they often seem

to bring to the air,

and the abundant entertainments

and artistic moments

that they make available,

they’re times for closeness and conviviality,

neither of which are in my skill set.

That’s why, unless I’m performing,

I try to reach oblivion

before each evening arrives.

   Keeping Focus

My primary concern

is to be able to

survive until I die.

                 My Former Companion       

My fox terrier had been pissing me off.

Maybe it was because we were both getting old.

I knew it was only natural

that she was exercising less

and wanting to eat more,

and I did feed her more than I had before,

but she wanted still more, and I feared she’d get obese

if I gave her all she wanted,

so she nagged me whilst I worked

in a particularly annoying way,

by repeatedly sighing and groaning just short of loudly

and by blowing long, loud exhalations through her nose,

which irritated the hell out of me,

especially when I had high-stress rush jobs

that required extraordinary concentration.

Then she stole a treat I’d bought myself at the hot bread shop

from off my eating table when I went upstairs,

climbing onto a chair, pulling the shopping bag to the floor,

and extracting the treat from its paper bag inside it,

something she hadn’t done since she’d been a puppy.

Love keeps life at home from being easy.

She also took to getting underfoot all over the house,

but especially at the head of the stairs.

I became convinced that I would die

by tripping over her and going arse over elbow down the 15 steps.

I didn’t and outlived her,

although I did come a purler down the stairs all by myself

one lonely, whisky-soaked evening after she’d died,

but survived with just a few broken ribs.

        My Dog’s Life

It could be better,

but it’s not too bad.

It’s likely to get much worse, though,

when I lose it completely.

     From My Pocket Notebook

On my arse at the end of the day

feeling various aches and pains,

also feeling growing apathy,

cruising aimlessly toward death,

and not giving a shit.

                           My Sore Nose

Since the free-to-air sports channel went off the air,

my viewing choices have been limited

to Aljazeera English,

which rubs my nose

in how so many people are much worse off than I am,

a lifestyle channel called ‘Choice’,

which rubs my nose

in how so many people are much better off than I am,

and the mainstream channels,

which rub my nose

in how most people seem to be much dumber than I am.

Since I’m just a pensioner

and can’t afford pay TV,

and also have no actual real-life, face-to-face community,

I’m spending more time now just reading books

and fucking around on the internet.

                    Dreams Suck, Anyway

It struck me on a Saturday afternoon

that I’d neglected to buy a lottery ticket that week,

thereby forfeiting my right to dream

for at least a few days.

Daydreaming’s just a delusional obsession, anyway.