Motivation, or Lack Thereof (a poem)
Lying on the floor* On a sweltering summer day, There’s no reason to get up So on the floor I stay. I lay there thinking Of ... nothing. Nothing. And nothing. I started to get bored With nothing on my mind, Wondering about things to do If motivation I could find. Too hot to go outside, All the household chores are done, Not time to eat or sleep, Nothing to do for fun. Feeling tired and listless, Yet more alive than dead, Existential thoughts Begin brewing in my head. Damn this COVID That keeps me from my friends! What am I doing with my life To be worth it in the end? What have I accomplished? Have I done enough good deeds? Have I been a good enough person? Why is my garden always full of weeds??? I have plenty of hobbies, Some things to keep me sane. But without the motivation, To do them is a drain. I could start a puzzle, Or read a gripping book, Play music on my mandolin, Or take another look... At the internet! YouTube or the news! But there’s only so much watching Before I get the blues. I wish I felt inspired To try something new, Or work on a project, Or cook a pot of stew. But the problem is this: I have no motivation. But oddly, I have just enough motivation To compose this kind-of sort-of poem That used to rhyme but now does not Because I lack the motivation to think any more about my lack of motivation. *Why was I lying on the floor? Great question. I started out doing some stretching, but was unmotivated to do any more, so just lay there, staring at the ceiling.