Now I lay me down to sleep
It occurs to me,
I am not even close to ready
For this week.
I accomplished nothing the past days
Piles of laundry overwhelm
A few dishes in my tiny kitchen.
No idea how I can bribe myself
To leave the house in upcoming days
For therapies, for appointments, for any reason at all
There is the dreaded appointment
Where I may finally learn about my chronic staph infection
But I care so very little, even about that
I just want to stay home and maybe sit on my porch,
Light incense and read books and not answer the phone
Avoid all those people out there
Who just want to help
By talking everything to death, over and over
That I’m trying so very hard to pretend doesn’t exist.