Minutiae of the Day

There are dishes to be done and beds to be made,

Clean laundry to fold and educational games to be played,

Pointless emails to answer and dripping noses to wipe,

And of course, now we have a busted pipe.

 

“Just fill out this form,” the bank teller will say,

“Welcome to the minutiae of the day”.

 

There are shoelaces to be bought and dry cleaning to pick up,

Pets to be fed and kid, please empty your cup.

There’s milk to be bought and bills to be paid.

And look, the dog’s collar is a little too frayed.

 

“It is what it is,” the old and broken people say,

“Welcome to the minutiae of the day”.

 

You look around at your mess of a life

That never seems bad but is somehow always full of strife

And remember that it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

We wished for this time during one we didn’t know we would miss.

 

Remember when we experienced a time

That we could play and not worry about the rate of local crime?

When dinner would be made and there were books to be read?

When our worries were small, like what had Ashley said?!

 

Now there are reading logs to fill out and calories to count

Your marriage is suffering, because of you, no doubt.

You think of everything that STILL needs to be done

And realize your life isn’t much fun.

 

But there is a toilet that needs cleaning and ten missing socks

You need a new key for that pesky third lock

That is only installed because of the neighborhood crime

Which would you surely help fight if you only had the time.

 

But the minutiae of the day that bears on our heads,

Seems to tear our mental sanity to shreds

It is pointless and irritating and seemingly for naught.

Are we just doing what we’ve always been taught

 

To keep everything so and not let anything slide?

What if we let go and just went along for the ride?

Fuck all the dishes and laundry and bills.

Isn’t this better than eventually abusing the pills?

 

But then dinner isn’t made and the kids’ faces are dirty

You need to check the mail and crap, your sister is turning 30.

There’s vomit on the carpet and you need new shampoo

There’s so much you can’t ignore, so much you have to do.

 

“I guess this is life,” you inevitably say,

“Welcome to the minutiae of the day”