So I'm stuck in the Queens quarters with nothing to do but drink tea and read poetry. Oh please it's not that kind of poetry.
Autobiography in Five Short Chapters - By Portia Nelson
I
I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk
I fall in.
I am lost ... I am helpless.
It isn't my fault.
It takes me forever to find a way out.
II
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don't see it.
I fall in again.
I can't believe I am in the same place
but, it isn't my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.
III
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in ... it's a habit.
my eyes are open
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.
IV
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.
V
I walk down another street.
OH MY FUCKING GOD. How profound. It's me. Except I haven't yet made it to the part where I've decided to walk down an alternate street. In fact at this point in my life I'm still in the hole, just sitting there. Hello hole. I attempt to stand up so that I can climb out on this deep trench but ahhhhh nooo it's too hard. This hole has become my home. I've got everything I need from unlimited pain and angst to limitless self loathing.
But I can hear the Queen's at the top yelling down to me saying stuff like -
"Get out of there you fucking idiot".
no, no, I'm fine.
Why is this? Why am I doing this to myself? I even read 'the hole' this poem last night and he couldn't stop laughing because even the hole himself knows how ridiculous I am being. Totally utterly stupid.
There needs to be a change, I think this with feigned avidity. No this time, I can do it. This is the end of shit street and the beginning of something better.
Lets start with putting on my trench coat and heading to George Street. It's not exactly the street I had envisioned but it will do for now.
TBC...
No comments:
Post a Comment