I used to be
A literary scholar
I waxed poetic about
whales and whiteness and waves and metaphors that meant: the personification of the plight of Ireland.
I never
even
liked
that
book
But Melville was somehow better
Than laundry/dishes/dishracks/mud-stained carpets/sweeping/washing windows/endless washing
Somehow
Standing in front of thirty unrelated teenagers felt like living
And now
Sitting in front of a computer screen with cups of coffee and trying to find something to do with my useless time I can't help feeling like
Failing
Is all that I ever accomplish
No sooner have I learned how to do something than that something changes and I'm supposed to
cherish every moment
I just wonder:
What has become of me.
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