I have a pile of New Yorkers
haphazardly splayed on the table
that I have yet to clean
still in their plastic covers.
Some are from last December
It's already this October
and they broadcast a failure
to keep up.
I read what I can
an article a day, maybe two
no small feat when they can run
to 30 closely-written pages.
I have not renewed my subscription
It is too much, too much!
and I have other things to tick off
in my trusty bullet journal
which I cling to
in spite of everything
to let me know that
I have not allowed the days to pass
like footsteps on water.
Did I read a chapter of the book-du-jour?
Hadot's Spiritual Exercises,
or that biography of Van Gogh
written in the 1950s?
Have I meditated?
Learnt a few French words and phrases
on Duolingo?
Listened to Deacon Keith Fournier
recite the Bible readings for the day?
With his distinctive panache
on Catholic Online?
Have I cleaned the kitty litter?
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
The one thing
I don't record
is the hours spent
in front of Netflix
as my mind atrophies
and I become drooling
and sub-verbal.
(and suddenly it's four in the morning
and I'm working tomorrow!)
Pick myself up
Dust myself up
get back to that list.
start again.
I refuse to be
just another
pandemic casualty.
It's time for Calm
and Tamara Levitt's
short meditation of the day.
10 minutes.
I can do 10 minutes
What's so hard about 10 minutes?
Maybe it will rein in
this slow disintegration
and reverse my attrition.
Later for you.
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