Concentration

This is harder to do, the older I get - keeping this many balls in the air - there just doesn't seem to be enough time for anything anymore. My feet hit the floor in the morning, and it's a sprint, then a long distance run, followed by another sprint, sucking the life force away until evening comes and there's nothing left; it's all I can do to just sit in front of the television, not really watching it, just staring into the light, the remaining life force sucked away until it induces a fitful sleep. Then awake in the middle of the night, always have to get up in the middle of the night, only a few hours until the alarm goes off, then back in the hamster wheel. I get less accomplished every day, and as a consequence, that which was not accomplished piles up in the Unfinished Basket, further behind each day, one step forward, two steps back. Unfinished, unrealized, undone. Harder to keep the focus, maybe soon I'll be repeating myself, treading ground already trod upon while the undone grows in scope and complexity. The sunset, the twilight, once one of my favorite times of day, soon to be accursed, a lovely time turned horrible, the things which were once so familiar now unrecognized, unrecognizable.