Challenge: Enumerate today’s complaints.
First, I feel like a snot sandwich. It’s possible that I’m allergic to everything, but especially to this house. (“A booger box,” Dad would have said.) Second, I hate cleaning it. What a waste of time and energy (which is in short supply.) It just gets dirty again, because we insist on living in it. Third, my back hurts, as it always does. My back and, of course, my butt. Yes, I am an eternal pain in the ass. Fourth, it’s Friday and I don’t want to go to work. Don’t get me wrong — I love the classroom, I love students and the curiosity bubbling just under the surface of their fake disdain, I love the crackle they create around writing and literature — but today I just want to disappear into a show hole and knit another ugly blanket. Fifth, the dog just unleashed an epic fart right under my feet and now I’m a bit dizzy (but hey at least it’s cutting through my hay fever daze). Finally, I have no idea how to end this poem, which seems to be a metaphor for something deeper and more significant that I am too tired, lazy and itchy to investigate.