Time On My Hands.

I’m sitting in my caravan. It’s raining outside. I’m thinking of buying a toaster so I don’t have to scorch my bread on the wire contraption over the gas stove. Most of my day will be taken up in making that decision, then searching out a suitable toaster. Then I shall have to choose between marmite and vegemite. I like both. While I’m out I may look for a butcher, as I haven’t eaten any red meat for nearly a week. Shall I splurge on a good eye fillet or some chuck to make chilli? I’m leaning toward the fillet, and I might get some baby spinach, feta and olives for a side salad.

Or maybe not. I am injecting myself daily with an appetite suppressant and only eat because I know I must. I could more easily open a can of corn and have it on toast instead of marmite.

Or perhaps I’ll just sit and look at the rain. I have my pot of coffee.

Author: Uisce úr

Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done, The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.

5 thoughts on “Time On My Hands.”

    1. I do have plenty to get on with; maintenance, housework, hobbies, but I also still get a kick out of not having to do anything if I so choose. Some days are like that.

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