Ode to the afternoon nap: splendid treats if you can luxuriate the time enough to foetal beneath the doona. Afternoon noises of the street sway, the dog snores. Loyal dog.
Have just eaten curry treats and am enjoying a cordial glass of beer.
In the Indian restaurant I bumped into some friends; a couple who were washed out with some unnamed trial of the day. They've given up alchohol, they haven't time for the pub anymore, perhaps if she was single still. . .we drift back off into our respective lives. I think about such declarations, so hard and fast. . .
Still, I've been similiar of late. Knocked back into a world of study, illness, recovery, study. But I am so contented in my bubble; my house and the figures within. Child, dog, garden, treasured food, word games over tea. It sounds revoltingly idyllic and sometimes my independence scares me: how much longer until the control freakery is cemented?
I am currently loving Vika and Linda. Ventured into the spectacle of the casino with my friends and we sat up like contestants on some obscure game show, or the muppets, and watched these incredible musicians effortlessly gift us with the best live entertainment I've seen in . . .a damn long time.
My current inability to frame text is freaking me out. Lots of paragraphs left isolated in white space. . .I will not panic.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment