Sorting Through Guilt

As I drive to Ann Arbor in my mind I bounce back and forth between which sequence yields the most enjoyment. A sip from a  cranberry juice box washed down with black coffee from a styrofoam cup. Or the opposite. Anything to boost my six hours of infusion. For the first time I was placed in a hallway room with curtains between patients, and I listened to a recurrent old timer next to me explain his retirement job of driving cars for a dealership. "Just enough spare change to go fishing" but the nurses go the extra mile to make sure those curtains prevent me from seeing him. So I sit in silence.

In college I felt a need to expand my vocabulary, which resulted in some poor writing. So much so I often found myself confused by a professor's red notes of exhaustion, caught up in the thought of tail pipes.

More so than not, I have struggled with decision making. Fueled by the same vain and struggle to get previous girlfriends to say I love you first. And confused when they struggle to say it near the end. These thoughts have had some time though.

Enough time now where I spend as much romanticizing over a landscape as I do thinking about bettering relationships. Like how will these realizations maximize my potential as a father someday? Husband? A friend? Brother? Son?

Over the past few weeks I have had the opportunity to continue these thoughts out in my mind. And point to obvious catalyst in preventing me from reaching those aforementioned goals. Upon a brief discussion with a friend, he asked if I recall the theme behind Catcher and the Rye. Which made me chuckle at why we are friends. As I currently am attempting to read through some Harrison. Which I bought in college.

All of this makes me truly appreciate DNR fishing reports.

Bonus Poem

2/8/2021

Side walks filled with salt,

Seems unfit for a walk,

The birds just seem yet to talk,

The yards void from emotion,

Snow plows and ice bring endless commotion,

Soon it will be spring again,

Until then it’s February in Michigan.