The Marathon

Alarm goes off.

Eyes open.

Tiny hope…but no.

Pain flickers on with the lights.

Dammit.

 

Only five seconds in,

But I already know exactly how this day is going to go.

 

Deep breath.

Shoulder the realities of my existence one more time.

 

Feel into my body:

Same burning forearms,

Same throbbing shoulders,

Same flaming knees,

Same song, verse  #7098.

 

#$@!

Who set my skin on fire?

Clothes on body-necessary, but excruciating.

Nudge from a cold, wet cat nose

is enough to send me over the edge.

 

Grateful for my pain meds,

but relief comes with a price:

Slow mind,

heavy body,

can’t write,

can’t think,

can’t drive.

Stuck.

At.

Home.

Again.

 

So bored of my office.

So bored of that couch.

So bored of those books.

So bored of this computer.

So bored of those TV shows.

So bored of these medications.

So bored of that crack in the ceiling.

So bored of those beige walls.

 

I am boringly beige,

inside and out.

 

So tired of being in pain.

So tired of thinking about being in pain.

So tired of talking about how much I think about being in pain.

 

How many different ways can I say, “Hey-I hurt! And it really  *$@ing sucks!

 

My normally fascinating inner world

is completely tapped out.

Now my  interior landscape

is just as blah as my surroundings.

 

That’s the worst of all.

 

I’m too bored to be angry.

I’m too bored to be depressed.

(Do I even need to mention

how bored I am of being bored?)

 

I’m even too bored to swear.

People: that is some serious “bored”.

 

Some days I shuffle across the finish line and pass out.

Some days I run manic, just to shake things up a bit.

But mostly, I’m just so damn tired of living in this unresolved chord.