The day feels guilty

The day feels guilty

Oops! Freudian slip.
I meant to write
The day feels easy.
And it does.

I'm no longer fretting
about the leg doctor's
appointment I missed.
That was Monday
at ten-thirty am (o'clock).

I'm no longer anxious
about the logjam in
the bureaucracies -
juggling Louise
the immigration person
at the NDP provinicial
riding office (Marily Churley,
MPP) and Johanna at the NDP
Federal riding office
(Jack Layton, MP), and
Evadne at Disability.

Actually I was sent
by Evadne to Woodgreen
Community Center. where
an official Photo ID specialist
rides in once a week, tomorrow
Friday, one pm to two-thirty.

Worry about tomorrow?
"Sufficient unto the day is
the evil thereof."
Or, I could opt for
"showers of blessings" and
"a balm in Gilead."

But the Woodgreen phone
receptionist said
I had to bring a birth certificate.
Which I no longer have. I'm
an undocumented person, and
Disablity is banging me around
until I dissolve into utter incoherence.
I grasp the Co-Inherence! the Mercy!

My blogs on refWrite
yesterday (Wednesday) and
probably the day before
{Tuesday)
were just terribly written.

Guilt? Who me?
Well, it's not as bad
as feeling guility for your
Mother's death.

Jingle bells, jingle bells,
jingle all the way down
to the bottom of the pit
of guilt and at the bottom
put your feet soldily on
the stone beneath you
in the well - and push
and paddle your way
to the surface.

Merry Christmas!