Where does time go when I am wasting it? Why can't I get stuff done, although I always make plans to become a real achiever? How come it is ten-thirty in the morning and I have spodded in front of the Mac for two and a half hours, without actually doing anything? Why don't I go and explore the tropics instead? Or mow the lawn? Or finish writing that sodding story that I converted my terrible play into? Or attempt at an entry (yet again) to the Guardian poetry workshop (she doesn't give up easily)?
The news was all bad again today: more sabre-rattling from the worthy leaders of my current country of abode, mass extinctions. And the like. Riots in my Helsinki, which I consider to be the Shire of the world.
If the polar bear and the hippopotamus go, will the world be worth living in? Of course it will. We will just spod more.
© 2006 Anna MR
2 comments:
The most infuriating thing to me is wondering what I did with my time before I had a baby. I used to think I was so busy. SHA.
Oh Naive, I don't even have that excuse. My babies are both in their teens. I just suck. Sigh.
Post a Comment