Every day, every day of my life I wake up and wonder why I'm still here.
Every day I get out of bed because there's no use staying in it, because even if I don't know why I'm still here, it is obvious that I am and if I am still here, I might as well do the things that need doing and so I do and the first business of the day- brushing my teeth and getting dressed- seems harder than anything I'll have to do for the rest of the day or maybe ever.
This is how it is.
I wonder why it is I do this. Why I wake up feeling like this every day.
Is it chemicals? Is it my life? Is it a curse that was put upon me at an early age, being fatherless, being abused, being worried all the damn time about everything that a child should never have to worry about? Did the worry and the fear dig a rut in my brain so deep that it takes all of my every day energy to pull out of it and then every night when I am asleep, I fall back into it?
I don't know.
I just know I get up and I get dressed and I keep on living and I keep on doing. I look around me and I see that I love just about everything in my vision from the red impatiens in a pot to the chickens scratching around the bird feeder to the green of the magnolia tree to the floorboards of my house to the way the light falls and hides and skitters and shines on the impatiens, on the red bird at the feeder, on the squirrels running across the yard and into the branches, their tails flicking as if they were crazy in love with life.
How can I hold all these things in one mind? The fear and the dread and the worry and the sorrow and yet, at the same time, the love and appreciation for it all?
It's a conundrum. It's a mystery.
It's just the way things are and by now I know that at some point in the day, for a moment at least, maybe many moments, I'll be free of most of the thoughts that chain me to sadness and will tomorrow too and we're going to need clean clothes and the chickens need clean water and there's so much to do and it surely helps if I do it and so I do.