Flat Out

I am stretched by the daily doing,
Flat out,
Every moment double-booked.
I thought I'd get ahead,
Get it all done
So summer would feel like summer.
Thought I'd hear the shore lapping louder than the washer rinsing.
Thought if a fingertip bled I could blame the hermit crab
Instead of the paperwork.
But here I am.
Flat out.
Weeding, packing, sorting, scrubbing, faxing, and only sometimes sleeping.
None of it is high stress.
I mean, no one dies because you forgot
to free-cycle the lumber scraps or pick up the dental records.
It's all just high volume--
A great many details to supervise,
An endless juggling of must-remembers.

So you will understand if I beg off from Flashback Friday indefinitely?
And if I rarely comment? And only post sporadically?

I want to enjoy my final (for now) season by the rocky shore.
I want to be all here, even if "all here" means buried between cardboard and Craigslist.
I need to go all in, even if it means I'm flat out.

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