THE 0550 TO SANDRINGHAM

After I returned from Tasmania I became quite ill which resulted in me having almost 4 months off not working – trying to relax, trying natural therapies; trying a low dose of antidepressant, feeling like maybe I was getting somewhere. In hindsight you could say I went through an existential crisis of sorts - I could not see the sense in anything, nor could I find pleasure in anything. What are we here for? Why do we get old & feeble? We’re all just slaves to money then we die!

I wrote the following poem during this time (just before I left work); I was not at this stage suicidal, just ahedonistic. Sometimes I feel that that is worse – devoid of all feeling, at least when you are suicidal you ‘feel’.

Never thought I’d grow up
To get up
To take pills every morning
The pink one-
To keep the stomach acid down
The white one-
To stop the head from hurting
At least until the caffeine kicks in

Never thought I’d grow up
To get up
At: “it’s 0550 hours”
To catch the Sandringham line
To get to work on time
To a job
Going nowhere fast

Come to think of it
Never thought I’d grow up
To get up
At all
Did you?

Guess one day we won’t