Peanut Butter and a poem

I just sat and listened to two ladies discuss peanut butter for a good fifteen minutes. All I could think about was how nice life must be if you find so much pleasure in discussing a condiment.
I was out listening because I actually had lunch with a friend today. Yup, I got out of the house and socialized. I don't feel tremendously better, but it did help distract me and I wasn't anxious at all. Except that she was about 15 minutes late and I started to worry she might not even come.
I've decided to attend a NAMI support group at my local mental health clinic. They meet weekly so it could be a good reason to get out and do something. I'll update on how it goes after Wednesday.

I started a playlist of songs I can end each post with so that's exciting. Music is so helpful. Just riding in the car with my music loud makes me in such a better mood. I suggest spending more time listening to music if you don't already.
I also started looking at poems to include here and there just because I like poetry. If you don't, sorry folks.
Here's the first one, a favorite of mine.

Splash

the illusion is that you are simply
reading this poem.
the reality is that this is
more than a
poem.
this is a beggar's knife.
this is a tulip.
this is a soldier marching
through Madrid.
his is you on your
death bed.
this is Li Po laughing
underground.
this is not a god-damned
poem.
this is a horse asleep.
a butterfly in
your brain.
this is the devil's
circus.
you are not reading this
on a page.
the page is reading
you.
feel it?
it's like a cobra. it's a hungry eagle circling the room.

this is not a poem. poems are dull,
they make you sleep.

these words force you
to a new
madness.

you have been blessed, you have been pushed into a
blinding area of
light.

the elephant dreams
with you
now.
the curve of space
bends and
laughs.

you can die now.
you can die now as
people were meant to
die:
great,
victorious,
hearing the music,
being the music,
roaring,
roaring,
roaring. 

Charles Bukowski