Cotton seeds are carried past my window,
winds drifting them like a December snow.
The day has barely started
and I'm already fed up with reality.

Messages swirl in my conciousness,
stirred by some insidious witch
getting pleasure from my confusion
as the worries contradict,
dragging me in their favored direction
without checking to make sure I can stretch
that many ways at once.

Sighing, I water the plant
I've kept alive on my sill
for an impressive amount of time.
Half of it's flowers are withering,
but it's likely due to age
over my neglectful care.

The dogs need feeding,
the dishes must be done,
I'm late on submitting my notes for last week.
The living takes priority;
their simple joys make life more bearable.

Everything else is shoved aside.
I'll get it done eventually;
even if I promised myself I'd be more productive
starting this week.

The chemically induced exhaustion
pulls me earthword,
making my limbs feel heavy
and my head float away.
But at least I don't hurt as much.
Physically, at least.

Pushing myself through breakfast,
I ponder the list of excuses I could use to skip work
before shoving them all away.
Life is siphoning my bank account away
far too fast;
do i really want to help it along?

Comb my hair, change my clothes,
remember I need to add deodorant
to my shopping list.
Shove my usual supplies
into pockets of ill fitting jeans
and mentally prepare myself
to exit the small comfort
offered by a home that isn't mine.

It's time to face the world.