a good person

I open the screen and work until I close it, at which point tasks and expectations mean nothing until time comes to do it all again. I won’t think about where most of my waking hours go once I log off for the night. in therapy the psychologist says this was a good thing. we did what we all seem to enjoy and gave it a label: balance. she applauded my efforts at setting healthy boundaries. I wanted to talk about something else.

I walk to the store for milk on my break. the air is warmer than it should be. beyond drying laundry the heat does little for me. I worry about the summer that will be, and spare a moment of concern for those still yet to accept the impending destruction of the ecosystem and world as we now know it to the climate catastrophe caused by our collective greed and need for more. the horizon is bleak for everyone that still is and will be. I write about them now to feel better about thinking more of myself and the task of enduring the December soon to come.

I choose unbruised fruit and leave what I wouldn’t eat myself for somebody else. at the checkout I scan the codes and think of my own delusion in the belief that a performance of words and gestures to indicate care can make me a good person. I wonder if it makes me evil or nothing worse than human.