I have been asked how I feel about quitting a lot over the last few weeks. It’s the most common thing for people to say to me right after “Congratulations!”. It is difficult to answer – it’s complicated, as they say on Facebook. On the one hand I am glad to be free of an environment that I had become eager to leave and excited to be out in the world again, on the other I have given up an opportunity to continue to work on some fascinating and significant projects with some great people as well as any financial security I had.
But what better way to express such a complicated mélange of emotion than through a poem? And so I present:
My Feelings
The wyrm chews my eye. I
Inhabit blackness, surrounded around
By smothering nothing
Red lines pulse pain
Screaming silence, white edge -
There is sharpness
Moving cuts. Tears wet nothing.
Falling is pounding, eternal impact. Mush. Crush. I
Struggle to touch but cannot.
Reach out to the dark, feel numbness
All is distant. Only the end is near – too
Near. Or is it? The wyrm eats too
Slowly.
Hmm. Not quite what I was going for…
No, really, I’m fine. I am more relaxed than I can remember being – ever! I am laughing easily and enjoying pretty much everything I do in a way that I had forgotten was possible. I feel – playful!
I assume this feeling of wellbeing will be slowly eroded by anxiety as I start to run out of money, but for now everything is epically good.
Don’t worry about me! Yet…
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14 Comments
Well now that’s some poem. I would suggest you recite that from now on when people ask you how you’re feeling… the good thing is people often ask that question, but most don’t really pay attention to the answer (or is that a bad thing?).
Unfortunately I have very hard time memorizing poetry. Maybe if they were song lyrics…
Hmmm… hevvy poem dude. How about this one instead: “I quit my job, was sicko da stress, I quit my job, now Im hoovering naked instead! I quit my job, gonna shave my chest, I quit my job, never felt the best, I quit my job, its puttin me to the test, I quit my job, now I’m having a rest, I quit my job, I wanna play wit yo breast”. Definitely something in that I reckon… work on it and come back to me. Also, don’t despair and be happy now in the knowledge Darragh and I will have someone to tease during our dismal days! (Hi Darragh, let’s do lunch man!)
Nice, Dean (sorry, Karl). That’s more of a rap lyric, which is perfect! All you need are some phat beatz.
I’m not sure Daragh knows the blog is back – maybe you should just call him!
Who cares! We all know this is just a flash in the pan eh! How long will you last before you go on and find some new and interesting career path like you did before; and then bham!, gone before you know it, leaving only me and Daragh and some dude called Nigel commenting amongst ourselves, with you, no doubt off teaching in some classical arts school with yer new friends, Leroy and Bruno! Mark my words… I’ve seen it before – finds a new job and then forgets about the old Blogs!
Hey, baby, that’s not how it was! That job didn’t mean nothing to me! Listen here, doll, you know you’re the only one that matters, right? Come here…
Not so much a reply as a new comment. No doubt your parents dismay at the feelings expressed in the poem will be out weighed by their satisfaction at this further evidence of your poetic prowess. I suggest as neophyte, you expand your range. Poems on daffodils, Grecian vases, skylarks, and Autumn have proved an enduring success. May I suggest an Ode to the Brooklyn Summer followed by a Rhyme of the Young Sound editor?
Worthy topics indeed – I shall take them under advisement.
As a point of order, if you do not wish your comment to be a reply to an earlier comment, you should type directly into the box at the bottom of the screen and avoid clicking the “Reply to this comment” link.
I sit corrected. And yearning for the good old days when blogs were well designed and easy to navigate. I confess I dislike the present format. White on black is never a good idea. I would go so far as to say it is meretricious. I searched for the button that previously allowed me select a less offensive format but it has disappeared , as indeed has the photograph of you sporting that rather strange moustache.
I have responded to criticism. I will not make a habit of this.
Ask(ing) Anthony: Where can I locate the option that allows me select the format in which the blog can be viewed? Where has the photograph that adorned the top of the blog gone?
Back where it was, on the upper right of the screen. I have winnowed the list. The one with the amusing mustache picture is “Esther”.
Anthony, I dislike your poem immensely. It lacks feeling, emotion, and it hardly rhymes at all.
Here’s how it should be done.
The Cruel Stoat, by CJ O’Carroll
The cruel, cruel stoat
made his nest in my throat,
he breached my moat,
porridged my oat,
and sailed in my boat,
to John O’Groat(s).
Enjoy.
I hate to say it, but it’s true – yours is better.