My attention span is short and small.
It’s tiny.
Tinier than a mouse.
Tinier than a minnow in the pond out back
And more fleeting than Florida rain in the spring.
The sun comes out, kisses the earth and leaves no trace
That a single drop ever hit the ground.
In this fashion goes my concentration
Even faster, my recollection of what I wrote and read.
© Faith-Magdalene Austin all rights reserved
I wanted to sit in the living room by a host of candles and read my new book but I’m anxious and can’t retain what I read. I get up and pace a bit, get into this and that then try to go back and read a paragraph or two. The first paragraph is the last one I read so it pretty much feels like one step forward two steps back. There’s no need to force it I guess. It’ll be here waiting to be read when I’m ready to read it.
fma
Friday, November 13, 2009 – 7:41PM EST
It’s so friggin annoying. I just want to cuddle up in my chair and read a book but nope, I’m too anxious. Argh!!!!!
I know I’m really having a hard time of it when I can’t read or write. Those are 2 things from which I’ve always derived so much pleasure. It’s a form of torment to not be able to lose myself in either past-time.