with each passing day, i become more concerned.
i struggle to keep concern from turning into full-blown worry.
i battle worry for fear the object of my worry will materialize.
see, the thing is:
i don’t care any more.
it’s alarming how i don’t care any more.
am i losing my ability to empathize if
i’m not brought to my knees with shared, imagined pain?
have i lost all self-respect if
i don’t flare into full-blown despair in response to criticism?
has my dignity completely disappeared if
i don’t get angry?
what’s wrong with me?
have i succumbed to acedia?
are my hormones drying up?
is it time to set aside concern and move into out-and-out worry?
wait.
wait just a minute . . .
what if it’s something as simple as,
i mean,
could it be that i’m just developing
No related posts.
from alana
from bonnie
from dian
this reminds me of a grown-up version of a shel silverstein poem.
however, i am in no danger of developing this thing you describe.
brava, Jeanne, brava!! Love these words!!!
A hug and a high-five for your inner smartass. You're a delight