the second of October, on a Saturday

I am overwhelmed -

with a reading list 600 pages long
with two essays and a project coming up due
and the essays not started
with the heavy feeling in my stomach
not knowing whether I'm hungry or full
with my neglected notebook
with my neglected river valley on this glorious day
with Kant and Freud and how desperately wrong
they can be,
with my dirty hair
with a pile of laundry
and the mountain of recycling
with the dying garden
with its last spurt of life
with ripped fingernails

- and I do not know where to start,
what to fight,
what to acknowledge and nod to