Routine
by Carol Armbrust 4/21/99
A routine is an easy crutch which is devoid of thought
into which I lowered myself for much of seven years.
It's a simplistic way of dying without the complications
of suicide, safely
squirreling away within the folds of subcultaneous storage,
an idea of escape.
But a routine can be a prison that frees the soul to wander
aimlessly to come upon the emotion-sucking, black hole of
an empty heart
pumping sluggish unwarmed blood into a numbed brain.
My routine kept me sane.... kept me from throwing blame,
carving gashes of time out of the unplanned schedule of
a span of seven years
A routine made up of seven years..... "just go to work, just
pick up your child from school, just fix supper, just take a
shower, just go to bed, just don't think, don't think, stop crying."
A familiar place, a routine, with boundaries, reststops, and a
solid yellow line- do not pass... stay on the right side all the way
But the routine thinned out, wore itself useless and sputtered to a stop.
Seven years is a long time to sit on a couch.
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Last changes made 4/21/00
