Today my to do list is not my best friend.
Usually I actually enjoy the structure
my to do list affords,
lines through completed items
testament to my

But not today.

I’m tired.
Tired to the bone, I tell you.
Which is no small wonder
given all the
huge things
I’ve checked off
My List
since February.

But still that one pesky
committee member
chides me about
all I still have to do,
(which means that I haven’t
earned any down time)
and how I can’t write
or sit
or read,
how I can’t slow down
I’ve wrestled that to do list
into a daily structure
of doable proportion.

That is my ultimate plan,
it’s true.

And it’s also true
that my husband
treks down the mountain
to work every day
at a job he doesn’t
especially like.
But I wonder how long
I must pay penance for him.
I wonder how long
I must bear this guilt
that I can’t even articulate.
I wonder if I’ll ever
really be rid of the notion
that worthiness is
directly proportional
to the size of a paycheck,
rendering everything I do
and of no consequence.

Writing is no carrot,
I say today.
I don’t shout it
and there’s no gnashing of teeth
or clenched fists as props.
I just simply say:
Writing is my blood.
And while it’s true
that my one word –
one itty bitty word
to wrap my ink around,
something that would tell you instantly
who I am
what I am about
is still elusive,
today I’m just too tired
to fret about it.

So I’m having myself an
At Will Day.
I nap
At Will.
I read
At Will.
I sit by the falls
or eat
or have a Smirnoff’s Ice (grape)
At Will.
Most importantly:
I write
At Will.

Yes, that is my
to do list for today.
And hear me on this:
I’ll do things
At Will
in spite of the
committee members who may attempt
to guilt me into submission
because today’s submission
is defined by another
committee member.
And since I seem to be on a roll,
I’m hereby officially
and publicly
nominating Her
to chair this committee that is Jeanne.

So there.