Never Mind

The more I age,
the more I feel like 
Gilda Radner’s Emily Litella.

Passionate screeds,
followed by
“Oh, that’s very different.
Never mind.”

Outraged by the way a friend responded.
Offended by a remark.
Righteous anger at that policy.

Then
I realize
I misheard
or was missing key information
or ate something and got a good night’s sleep.

Never mind.

So I hold back,
try to be humble,
not overreact.

And fear I’m also at risk
of becoming Neville Chamberlain
or the frog in a boiling pot.

Maybe if I ignore it,
it’ll go away.

It’s just a little vexation,
a little violation, 
a little degradation.

Day after day.

Until I’m numb.

Until we’re boiling to death.

If wisdom is knowing the difference,

I feel so far from wise.

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If this resonates, I’d love to hear from you. A comment, a share, or even just a like goes a long way. Writing into the void is its own practice, but knowing the work lands makes it easier to keep showing up.

Post #47, Challenge Day #113