tired of having my soul tell me what to do

I feel sluggish can barely move through the sludge and mud burdened with the woes of the world turn off the news! my soul shrieks at me it will bog you down until you are stuck in a tar pit of unhappiness This idea has merit but am I ready to give up my horrible feelings? gloom and doom sometimes works for me I reach for a newspaper, turning it to the obituaries “not that!” screams my psyche I do not care I am tired of having my soul tell me what to do.