Way laid by icky ness

Well I had every intention of being part of the poem a day movement. But life had other plans for me. Down sick for nearly a week now, very little writing has gotten done at all. Very little anything has gotten done. Except for cough, blow, groan, drink water/tea, cough.

I have way too much going on to be sick. When do we not have way too much going on for that?
Sometimes our bodies take over and we are forced to stop.

So stop I have. See you all soon. In the mean time, write a poem.

#4  24

There they are again

The same 24 hours I was given yesterday

Waiting for me to make the most of them

And I do, at least I try

Filling every fold and crease in a day

With sweet cream filling oozing out the sides

Until it is ridiculous to keep filling, but I do

Every box filled with multi color dry erase marker

With much calendared event planning

Formal; semi-formal; casual expectations

Cheese Hors d'oeuvere; cheese plate; spray cheese

In decorative holiday forms

When I don't finish every project

Or achieve every goal

I am left feeling guilty and unaccomplished

Like seeing a B+ as nothing but less than an A

Never mind the astounding amount finished

I will only see what is undone

Wish there were more hours in the day

When I should recognize my limit and

Stop.