Gone...

Gone...  The word rattled around her thoughts and rolled into a quiet corner, like a marble left forgotten under a couch after a spirited game.  Gone...  Could the answer really be as simple as that?  Maneuvering the heavy cart with its persistent lazy wheel around the other shoppers, she barely gives the word a thought.  Gone...  No, that's impossible, on to the next idea.

And yet, as she crosses the bustling parking lot, weighed down by the grocery bags, the thought wouldn't let go.  Gone...  She shakes her head, trying to focus on loading the car and planning the rest of the evening.  What is there to plan, though?  First dinner, which she'll make for everyone and will please no one, except maybe John who'll eat whatever is put in front of him; his thoughts on how quickly he can get the pretense of family time over with.  Homework supervision, which will rapidly degenerate into arguments and recriminations and tears, accompanied by slammed doors.  Who knew Algebra could be so fraught with emotions?  And then dishes, routine clean-up, laundry or dealing with whatever other household calamity that gets discovered as the nine o'clock news comes on and can't be put off until tomorrow.  And finally it's on up to bed.  And if she's really lucky, then as she pauses in the slow climb up the stairs, she'll hear the sound of John snoring.  Gone...

The groceries stowed, she settles into the driver seat and automatically reaches for the seat belt.  Marcie, the three year old family dog that everyone wanted and no one wanted to take care of, wags her tail happily.  Front seat is a rare treat and the canine enjoyment knows no bounds.  Gone...

She feels around her purse for the phone, wondering if she should call and let John know she's running behind, that dinner will be late.  Even as her fingers close around the cool plastic, she knows she won't call.  There'll be no thanks for the thoughtfulness of a warning, only a barely disguised barb about the lack of planning.  Marcie is eyeing the purse hopefully and she pulls out a dog treat, absently handing it to the dog.  She knows she shouldn't, but she pulls out another one and Marcie is practically whimpering with giddy delight.  How little it takes to make her happy and earn undying gratitude.  Gone...

Reluctantly she pushes her purse under the passenger seat and automatically checks the fuel level as the car hums to life.  Almost a full tank, no need to make any more stops tonight.  She turns on the radio, the familiar voices of NPR filling the car, and pulls out of the parking lot.  It's getting darker now, but she has driven these streets two, three, four times a day for, she doesn't want to think for how many years, and the car practically navigates itself.  She thinks to the hazy future when the car really will navigate itself as she watches her street come into view, the final left turn in the trough between two sloping hills, and then keeps on driving.

Gone.

Focus

I am tormented by a lack of focus.  Or perhaps a lack of grounding is a better way of putting it.  No matter what I start doing, I am incapable of keeping my attention on it.  Reading, browsing the internet, watching a show, cleaning, it doesn't matter how interesting or engaging the activity, I cannot focus and stay with it for the duration.

Even now, as I'm writing this, it's a constant struggle to keep my thoughts on the piece.  My eyes are wandering off the screen to the people around me, to the muted TV screen on the wall, to the bleak landscape I can glimpse through the half-shaded windows.  My ears are picking up the whispers of sounds that are filtering through the music in the headphones and my nose is distracted by the lunchtime smells of the cafe.  You might think that I'd have an easier time focusing at home where the distractions would be less pervasive, but it's no better at home with the laundry basket and crumbs on the kitchen floor offering a different form of escape.  There is Netflix and two warring cats, bent on gouging each other's eyes out in a quest for territorial dominance.  And let's not forget the bed and the allure of a mid-day nap.  At home the options for diffusion of focus are even more numerous than in a noisy cafe.

It's not entirely unusual for me to be pulled in many directions, but it's rarely this severe and downright disabling.  I know what I should be doing, what I need to focus on but for the life of me, I cannot force my attention to stay on task for longer than ten seconds at a time and even that seems like a stretch at the moment.

I can blame it on poor sleep or my complete lack of willpower or my horrendously sedentary lifestyle or the depressingly long winter, but the truth is it doesn't really matter what the cause is, I need to get through it and I have no idea how to do it.  Usually I'm able to compel myself to do what I know needs to be done, but the usual tricks aren't working or maybe I'm just not trying hard enough.

This entire post is only a few paragraphs long and it's already taken me almost an hour to write...  I can't even stay with this long enough to bring it to a satisfactory conclusion.  Maybe there isn't one.