Po' me

I'm at a loss for words. I am pretty sure it has something to do with what's on the horizon.  I tell myself--it's an investment, but even that gives me the heebly be'geeblies. It tastes like a medicine which is worse than the illness. It looms like a necessary surgery, an amputation of a gangrenous limb. I usually don't have much to write about other than me, and now I see myself facing a pitiable west coast state of spiritual inertia. 

And what in the world do I now care for or have I ever cared for being in good standing with a neighborhood watch or Home Owner's Association? With each realtor listing sent my way, I feel a turn of the screw. Home ownership. A final resting place for me and my stuff.