The Journey Inward

Wednesday Night Me was fired up,
invigorated by the live match on tv,
monitoring the scores of other matches on my app,
and swapping tennis texts with my daughter.
"It's getting late," a niggling thought jabbed,
but I ignored it, 
because nothing is better than Grand Slam tennis.
"It's only for these two weeks," I reasoned,
"and then I'll sleep."
Thursday Morning Me wakes at dawn,
to the sound of the garbage truck dumping,
crunching and roaring its way down the street.
I look at my phone bleary eyed.
"Only three hours of sleep?!" I moan,
cursing Wednesday Night Me's choices,
as I get up to start my day.
Maybe someone can relate.

It's dinner time and just me tonight.
Maybe I'll bake those butternut squashes
and try that soup recipe I saved last month.
That would be delicious, nutritious,
and a nice way to spend the evening,
taking my time and staying present 
as I cut, dice, mix, blend. 
Sounds perfect!
Instead, I pour myself a bowl of cereal,
add blueberries because they're a power food,
and eat at the counter while reading a travel magazine.
Maybe someone can relate.

I melt into the couch, excited to read,
tucked under a blanket in front of the fire,
a hot cup of tea on the table beside me,
dogs curled at my feet.
I reach for my phone to silence it. 
Did I play the Wordscapes puzzle of the day yet?
No!  Let me do that quick!
Ooh!  I'm on a roll! Let me solve Wordle fast.
Three guesses!  Yes!
I feel like I can rock Connections tonight!
Seriously?  Those don't go together?
Or those?
Ah!  Got it, 
though I have no idea what those last four have in common!
I might as well play Strands while I'm here.  
That just leaves The Mini, and I'll have finished my games.
Brrrrng!  
“Hi, Friend!" I say, answering the call,
and just like that, the night goes by,
and my book remains unread today.
Maybe someone can relate.

My daughter texts to tell me her schedule changed.
I ask if it's definite,
and before she can reply,
I ask if that works better for her. 
Did you let your sister know?
Will you have weekends off?
Which weekend do you think I should come?
Will you be coming home one of the weekends?
Is your husband coming down?
I forgot that at best, I get 3 questions in 
before the thread goes dead.
Clearly, I've reached my quota 
and no more questions will be answered today.
Maybe someone can relate.

I pick up groceries on my way home from work,
but having forgotten to take the water softener salt out of the back of my car,
I’ve trapped my reusable shopping bags under their considerable weight. 
I scrounge up a few random bags,
and the shopper squeezes the extra items in nooks and crannies,
around the salt, dog beds, ice scraper, boots, outerwear, 
and general supplies I cart around should I ever be stranded for several hours...or days!
At home, I grab my phone, keys, and work bag from the front and back seats,
then open the hatch and start slinging sacks on my arms, one after the other.
With my “free” hands, I grab the carton of soda and quart of cashew milk,
and waddle up the porch steps.
I struggle to open the dog gate,
putting nothing down because 
I've Got This in One Trip!
I drop the milk, the soda bounces down the stairs,
and my schoolbag slides down, smacking into a grocery bag,
which causes a jar of pickled onions to tumble out 
and smash its pretty pink contents on the snowy step.
Maybe someone can relate.

I decide I won't eat dessert tonight,
as it's been a sweet-heavy week.
I brew my tea after dinner and head upstairs to write.
My stomach rumbles and I head back down for a meat stick.
"That's an excellent choice!" I commend myself, proud of my protein.
A half hour later, craving strikes again and I head back down,
this time making popcorn in a pot on my stove.
Two more treks down to the kitchen,
two more snack choices,
until I finally give in 
and have that one piece of chocolate I'd been wanting all along.
Maybe someone can relate.

This line, “Maybe someone can relate”, was lifted from Michelle Cook's poem, Wilted.  Several of the writers in my group used it as a jumping off place to create their own poems.  This poem of mine was inspired by Lydia's poem.

Photo:  2.2.22 One of my favorite Costco treats. by LA