Of socks and clocks

The day lies
spread-eagled before me
passive and ready
to bend to my will,
And I sit, impotent,
paralyzed...
 
Like socks in the dryer,
I'm watching  
tumbles and jumbles
of wants and shoulds
cycling through my head,
never settling on a course of action
 
My mind's eye follows one
for a while
and I've almost decided --
when an abrupt shift of colour and texture
whisks it out of sight,
out of mind...
and they just keep taking turns
flopping around, never settling
as I stare,
blink,
try to focus
 
                                           I should get this done
                                    I finally have time for that
                              This is on my list
                         I said I'd do that
                   I should really finish this
              I want to get started on that
       I want this
I should that
 
And the clock is relentless.
 
Every tick bashing me over the head with facts,
every tock tsk-tsk'ing about opportunities wasted.
 
At the end of the day there's only time for obligations
and neatly folded socks
tucked away in a drawer  
with the rest of the dreams.