In Which I Vent A Little Resentment

Some days, the walls close in and I don't think
I'll ever finish what I must, again.
Some days just pass right by me in a blink,
With naught accomplished. It's at such times, when
My promises heap high, as do my needs,
Just when I'm powerless to make things so,
And more rebukes grow tall like backyard weeds.
Life's short, uncertain; all of this I know.
What's gone unfinished just might well remain
That way. My chest grows tight, my face goes red
Each time another chore comes up to drain
The energy I dearly hoped to spend
On my own projects, when my time is mine
Again. But I'm employed; I should not whine.