Jar of Jam

Jam Jar: a foul, gastric cancerous, animated glob of putrid proportions—

Reaching it’s mucky, sludge appendage out (2026)

Jam.

Jam Jar. 

Jar of Jam. 

Just. Sitting. There. 

Twitch. Twitch.

I need to put away the jam. 

I need to put away the jar of jam. 

I’m writing. 

I’m a page and a half through my daily morning writings. 

When I look up. 

To find the jam—

Looking at me.

Lid on the table.

A spoon at its side. 

I move the spoon—

Pick up the lid.

Set it onto of the jar—

Twist, twist, twist.

I should put away the jam jar. 

Jar of jam. 

Put away the jam. 

But…

I can easily put it away…

After I’m done writing. 

I sit there writing—

About thinking—

About putting the jam of jar away. 

Half a page—

Dedicated to the neurotic urge—

Of putting a fucking jam of jar away. 

I’m angry at the jar. 

I’m angry it’s sitting there…

Existing. 

Frustrated I didn’t put the jam of jar—

Jar of jam—

I correct myself—

Away. 

I should put it away. 

But will putting away the jar help? 

Or will I lose all concentration—

Putting away the jar? 

Clearly my concentration is shot—

Out the window—

Gone. 

Yet…

I’m still writing. 

Is the jar of jam—

A problem?

Or…

Just a perceived problem? 

What happens when I give in…

And put the jam away? 

I’ll look right when closing the fridge—

At the dishes. 

I’ll stop everything—

Check!

Dishes done! 

Then I’ll look— 

My now almost empty coffee cup. 

I’ll get another fill…

As I do, Pip will drop his ball at my feet. 

I won’t leave him hanging. 

I’ll toss the ball. 

And then…

And then…

And then… 

It’s time for class. 

Stopped at a page and half—

Thoughts still filling my head—

Discouraged— 

I let—

My attention— 

Get away— 

From me. 

Once again.

Five minutes of drawing 

Or Writing—

And not a minute more. 

I haven’t done the thing I want to do—

The thing that brings me joy—

The thing that makes me— 

Laugh,

Smile,

Cry, 

Breathe.

All because of a list of problems—

I convince myself—

Is urgent. 

But are they? 

Is putting away a jar of jam 

So urgent— 

As to deny myself time for myself? 

Will the jar of jam transmute itself

Into a foul, gastric cancerous, animated glob of putrid proportions,

Reaching it’s mucky, sludge appendage out—

Strangling my throat—

For the audacity to not put it in the fridge—

Immediately? 

Why oh why didn’t you just put the damn jam

Immediately in the fridge like every other day? 

So why today? 

Maybe today is the day you rage against the jar of jam.

And in your rage—

Writing frantically—

To keep yourself actively still writing—

Only to stop

And ask—

What is actually urgent?

And what is actually important? 

To notice the enjoyment 

Of writing and drawing a globby jam monster 

Crawling out from an open jar.

Or peaking out from under the lid. 

Realizing I would never had had this moment,

Or moments with my friends and family—

Laughing and cherishing—

Moments—

If everything is important—

And everything is urgent. 

And initially—

Acknowledging I might get upset or angry

When snapping out of my ‘To-Do’ list trance—

Cursing a jar of jam—

One more thing I didn’t do

That I need to do,

That I didn’t do—

Fuck you. 

But then the next instant,

Laughing at how silly it seems—

Obviously this jar of jam isn’t going to attack me. 

Isn’t going to sprout white mold before my very eyes. 

No foul, gastric cancerous, animated glob of putrid proportions,

Reaching it’s mucky, sludge appendage out—

Not today—

Not tomorrow—

I’ll finish the jar in just 3 days time. 

My three pages are done,

The jar of jam is now home,

I’ve done what was important—

By acknowledging the distraction,

I’ve written three pages about a sludge monster

And the importance of remembering—

What is important:

Family,

Friends,

People,

Nature,

Animals,

Art,

My writing…

Just to name a few. 

So I end my pages,

So hum—

I am that. 

I am creative, compassionate,

Curious, and kind. 

I am strong, brave, hardworking, 

And blessed. 

I am funny, clever, energetic, and loved. 

I am at times distracted, distant, depressed, 

And dumbfoundingly dumb.

At times angry, frustrated, exhausted,

Sour, and obsessive. 

I am all that and more. 

And I love me. 

So hum—

I am that.