My thoughts are mixed and scrambled like the legos on my brother’s bedroom floor.
Little red here,
Little green there,
Yellow, yellow, everywhere.
Never sorted into neat even piles.
I feel, oh here I go, that I am “speading myself too thin”.
I keep waiting for it all to end and every moment is one final last push.
Like biking up a terribly steep hill, you can see the top, can’t you?
The sweat and lack of oxygen blurs my vision, my goal, my ambition.
How many “last final pushes” can I endure?
Or is all of life juat one final push?
So when my brain suddenly cumbusts from all the Algebra or Physiology who’s is going to pick up the pieces?
Or when my legs break from the four hours of sorting clothes and smiling I do for $7.35 an hour, do I get crutches?
When they don’t want me to baby sit their children anymore or my eyes fall out from standing and witnessing the destruction of ourselves and the world around us, what good will my expensive degree be?
Your answers lie just over that hill, just give it one final push.
You’re almost there.
From the world of the not-so-ordinary,