getting away with it..

tick.tick.tick.tick.tick.
time.
i don't have much.
i mean,
i've got these moments,
and a few minutes here and there,
but really,
otherwise,
i'm out of time.
every day is over before i even get ready for it..
before i even get started,
i'm snacking on some treats,
feeding the woodtove a bellyful of logs,
and hunkering down under the covers.
lather. rinse. repeat.
responsible adulthood, an' that.
obligations.
pretty much the worst thing ever, right?
feeling like you have to doo-doo some doo-doo?
i'd take the goosebumpity diarrhea chills
over the crushing heat of obligation any day.
so lame.
i stopped by the shop to see if my sweet baby-lady
wanted to scoople up a little somethin' for lunch,
...and i ended up working until closing.
sans lunch.
i should've probably known better than to
show up with a parking lot chock full of cars,
but what can i say?
i chose the wrench.
it's just what i do.
i've been balls-out slammed with skin to wreak wreck on.
it's good.
and it's not so good.
on the one hand;
hard work is it's own reward.
and a handsome reward it is, too.
(the papers these ninjas get stuck for don't hurt, either)
but on the other hand;
i definitely don't live to work.
except that lately i kind of do.
that's that hands-have-teeth,
back-biting the hand that feeds 'em type action.
i'm so busy i think i might be part beaver.
that's doubly so if you are what you eat.
oh, c'mon, that's inappropriate.
maybe i'm part bee, instead.
that's probably closer to what's up.
a dispassionate drone.
yeah.
that sounds more like it.
work. sleep. buzz off. buzz on.
buzzard business.
that's the circle i see most often lately.
never mind the smoky ghosts,
and smoke rings,
of thought and memory;
i'm on that vulture downdraft,
carrion-creeping, concentric concentration.
that's the ever tightening spiral of a vortex, ninjas.
obligation, an' that.
i'm so mutha-flippin' far out of time,
it's actually already tomorrow as i finish writing.
i'd hoped to be timeless in the everlasting sense of
authentic eminence of authorship,
not time-less with less time.
so lame.
my glass is half-full, believe it or not,
but my hourglass, now, ya'll,
that sunovagun is down to the last grains;
never quiet, never soft.....