There were ways to attack the day, and you did just that,
razoring a path through every list and chore, slicing into the meat
of your endless to-do’s with a steel-eyed rigor. You are so good at
flinging yourself at the buzzing mechanisms of your life, separating wheat
from chaff. But eventually, the hours narrowed to a close, and the clutch
you’d kept on your efficiency diminished too. You fell to the couch a little
discombobulated - despite your efforts, feeling like you didn’t do that much.
And no wonder. Without pleasure, the work is vacant, a bookend with no middle.
So you bent to the happy task of chocolate pudding, forklifting one slow
spoonful at a time, and soon your clarity returned, your tenderness, your glow.