Driving north and feeling down
When on the radio a sappy blues
number, Unhappy little girl blues.
Hey line comes on about Counting raindrops on the windshield.
I look at the windshield and notice the raindrops.
Song is taunting me for being an unhappy little girl.
Suddenly I am thinking Prospero giving up his magic and becoming a new prince again.
And a siren from behind me and I jump out of my skin. Too jumpy. Paranoid. Because I am in standstill traffic and texting. Because I am always under the gun release days. Mostly because I am not very smart when it comes to the exigencies of living day-to-day life. But that is the price of being me, no? So then how to be me and to please a worried perfectionist.
Then there's just becomes a journal entry and not a poem.
Step back and notice how pain led me to think. Also take a breath and stop thinking. Then I feel better. But that is the crux of the problem. How do I not think and enjoy, when I have to think all the time?
You just heard, sometimes I'm happy, the DJ says on the radio.
Radio as Prospero. Prospero as. Shakespeare as writer. Writer as self.