TheBanyanTree: Nightmare on Rose St

[Monique]

Yes, I reckon so.

I can't do poetry, having been constructed without the essential gene. Life is transitory, and often pointless, and as I lay here in pain, wondering why I have to get through this again tomorrow, I listen for the birds.

No, they're quiet right now.

By "this," I mean getting up, sitting at my desk and attempting to ignore the stupid pain that's been getting worse with every day, and trying to be patient, and not whiny, because no one likes the perpetually whiny. That's what they say in all the seminars. You know the ones I mean: I get emails on them all the time, because I get emails on everything. "Think your way to better health." "How to win friends by not being whiny." "Positive Living!" Blah blah blah.

And sometimes it seems so pointless. But I can't go down that path. I've seen what happens to people who do, and it's not a pretty sight. They end up at the bottom of the canyon, broken, their eyes filled with the sort of pain that happens when one is without hope.

Or maybe I've gotten that confused with what happens when one falls off their donkey at the Grand Canyon.

I don't know. Some days I feel like I fell off a donkey.



Monique
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On Apr 22, 2013, at 9:48 PM, Woofess <Woofess at iinet.net.au> wrote:

> 
> No sound of bird song
> Punctuates the air
> Instead the futile screams
> Of trees' death throes,
> And the howl of chainsaws
> Rend the canvas of the day.
> Mute bare earth now remains.
> And the birds have gone.
> 
> Life is  transitory and pretty pointless at the best of times, I reckon ;)
> -- 
> 
> Best regards,
> 
> Woofie
> 
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> "The one constant in life is absurdity" - Woofie - 30/4/02
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