The Blur Of A

Oh, I try so hard,

But still I keep failing.

Everyday I awake with great intentions, to mend my life, improve my disposition, enhance my environment, and then,

I still succumb to that second cup of coffee,

Then I retreat into the world of print, absorbing at least one book before dinner

And never allowing my well worn IPad far from sight and hand

My world seemingly is discontent with local territory and clamors for escape into the global expanse embraced by the NYT and Drudge and yes, often, I must admit, Google.

I have been able to refrain from Facebook, and as yet, I have not twittered or twerped or even texted, but who knows, how much longer before I, too, collapse into that manhole of communication.

Ah yes indeed before summer arrived, I thought I could keep this year’s resolution to be more outgoing, upgrade civility to cordiality and perhaps broaden my own horizons. Oh, I did have such good intentions, on that very first day of a New Year.

Winter is now not far distant despite the falling autumn raindrops weeping on my window pane, but to date, I have not succeeded. Nor, as a matter of fact, have I come even close.

I could lay blame on the staccato reporting of first the Impeachment and then the Debates, and now the Nomination. But I know that is not the truth. I yearn for the news; I wistfully ache to escape into the whirlpool of Washington, and the theatre of political debates. I cringe at the placebo of daytime TV and embrace the anguish of current controversies.

I flee to Buckingham Palace to keep abreast of Mexit, or Brexit or even what has happened to the Corgis. I linger in the clouds of inertia while I wait for the latest update on the Monarch.

And now, I must admit the truth, you are indeed a better man than I, Gunga Din.

However, I will keep trying