I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence
And so the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're goin' through

Monday, August 11, 2008

Too many notes, Mozart

There comes a point in juggling, as the assistant is feeding more balls into the circle, that the juggler's brain refuses to process anymore. In fact, it hits the big "Tilt" sign and shuts down. All the balls come falling down.

After the blazing display of focus the other week with writing, I've been hoping to continue that. But there's too many balls in the air, and I get paralyzed and can't do anything. Tomorrow some of those balls will go away after the monthly meeting, hopefully not to be replaced with more balls. This week I hope to put two freelance projects to bed (and force a check out of a client I thought I could trust), fewer balls. The door gasket on the dishwasher didn't help, one more ball. But I cleaned out the float mechanism, which was all gunked up. One fewer ball (until we test it). I really hope it's not the tub gasket, or the water line (as I haven't figured out how to get under the thing without dismantling much of the front). More virtual balls. Yard needs work, chores need done, crime needs busted, all balls in the air.

I need to get back writing. The words are starting to eat me. And I'm bugging you all with my output (I don't want to count the past two weeks of blog output, that would be depressing).

No comments: