procrasti-working
works for me—-
i get into the flow
of whatever work
isn’t time-sensitive
/finish up a project
that isn’t really necessary,
and i find myself
[usually, but not always]
able to continue flowing
into the stream of consciousness
of whatever thing i was avoiding
to begin with
[but i wouldn’t necessarily recommend this
to anyone else]
[except
maybe
maybe those
with the adhd]
the cat
has a compulsion
every time there is a lap
with a soft fuzzy blanket atop
she must
must
must
crawl upon the space
created perfectly for a curled up cat
kneed the knees and thighs
just a few times
then perch
lie
purr
sometimes sleep
laps themselves
are only about 50% inviting
she could take or leave
bare legs/
legs blanketed in jeans/
pajamas/
dresses/skirts/harem pants
but the minute
that soft polyester cover is draped
here comes the hasslecat
a magnetic pull
a need
a compulsion
a necessity
to lie
on a blanketed lap
and i love her for it
the calm before the storm
no
there’s been so much storm before
now
the eye
of the hurricane
waiting
to discover
the truth amongst
the wild weather around us
but what do we do now
when we know
that only tempest
surrounds us
[no escaping
reality]
usually
i use morning page time
to write what’s bouncing around in my mind
and smooth out the edges
of the frantic thoughts and premises
and write for an audience
once i’m done
parsing
ponderings
but this morning
i’m just continually
digging through
my mind’s soil
and seeing what might grow
and i don’t know
if any of my work is readable
much less digestible
but better to let indigestion take hold
than not have anything to show
from such a
productive
pensive
morning
right?
i’m
so bad at bedrest
at resting
in general
at least i’m willing to nap
and sit quietly
as a thunderstorm
rolls on through
i’ve been pondering
stories
as lives
lives as stories
and i haven’t come to any conclusions
yet
except that
apparently
this is my current way
to dissociate
planning and preparing
are nothing when it comes to
insurance
human fallibility
and the twists of the fates
~~~
i use squiggles
[tildes]
to break the momentum
from one poem
to the next
but only in a batch of three
because formatting in devices these days
is far too variable
for a whole line
so i rely on my
three
little
squiggles
to [hopefully] signify
to both reader and writer
that this poem is over–
re-ready yourself
for a whole new
poem
beginning.
~~~
lost in the depths of a book
so visceral
so immersive
so taking-me-along-for-the-ride
i can’t decide
if this one is more stressful than the first
but all of these ninths
give me some sort of curse
of caring
and staring
long distances as i listen to them
audiobooks carrying me through the star-system
the big house
the river
and i just want to know
what happens next
what happens next
what happens next???
my stomach grumbles
because i haven’t yet had my morning bagel
and it’s already nearing 8:30
and i can’t help but fantasize
about how the everything seasoning will feel in my mouth/
taste on my tongue/
how the cream cheese will add that special something–
and my stomach complains louder
as i contemplate my breakfast
instead of simply starting it/
making it to be eaten//
this poem is torture to my digestive tract
and i need to apologize
but first i must somehow poetize
the fact that i never get sick of bagels
because they are
so
damn
good.
i have a little notebook
where i diligently write down
everything i’ve done
daily
so as to not feel like a complete tool
and imposter
and fool
for ‘not doing anything
productive
every day’
it helps with some things—-
i can track when i tend to
get stuck on my phone
doom scrolling
and doom scrolling
and doom scrolling
ad nauseam,
and i can track what days
i seem to feel more pumped
to do things
that i should be
doing,
or the perfect storm
of creative inspiration
and bodily motivation—-
and if there’s a discrepancy
between kip’s and my memory
i can usually pull it up to see
which of us is remembering falsely
but
i’ve found
it’s hard to put aside the time
to write in the notebook
with each passing event/
activity/
noticing,
and i have to gather a formal moment in my day
(or two)
to catch up in my
little notebook of everything
and therefore
(since it takes so long)
i end up writing in a passage
a moment
a marker
of when i took time out of my day
to write down all the things i did that day
and that feels a little…silly to me
thoughts?
being married
to your best friend
makes all your evenings
silly little sleepovers
kipventures 