Sunday

Sundays are amazing. This Sunday, like the last one, and the one before that, the sun is peeking through the clouds, there’s a light, fresh wind blowing, and my comfortable couch makes an excellent place for languishing with a book. I think I enjoy Sundays as much as tea and a biscuit, which is a special love indeed. Wallowing in all of the above feels like some kind of gluttonous ecstasy that should carry some kind of x-rating. I feel like a particularly smiley hippo, albeit one that can make tea. And likes biscuits.

The book in question is Tim’s Four-Hour Work Week, the emphasis being on effectiveness and efficiency to free-up time so that you can . . . do whatever you consider will make you happy. I don’t think there is a person alive that could disagree with that, and billions of dead that wouldn’t either. Go read this book, it’s excellent! Hidden within the pages there is a little gift, an unexpected present, which reminds me of my friends going through a little hardship: friends being made redundant from their jobs; others wishing they were made redundant – sorry chaps, you’ll have to come in tomorrow!; and another making their long-term cheating husbands redundant (divorce, not death by the way, although it's America so who knows eh?!). The gift is nothing more than a simple poem dedicated to how we live our lives, and in essence how we make use of our time. Time is the key, and I feel more now than ever that I’m in a mental-space where I can appreciate it. It’s fucking wonderful place to be, like drinking tea with a biscuit on a couch reading a book in the sunshine on a Sunday.

Slow Dance

​Have you ever watched kids
On a merry-go-round?
Or listened to the rain
Slapping on the ground?
Ever followed a butterfly’s erratic flight?
Or gazed at the sun into the fading night?
You better slow down.
Don’t dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won’t last.
Do you run through each day
On the fly?
When you ask: How are you?
Do you hear the reply?
When the day is done,
do you lie in your bed
With the next hundred chores
Running through your head?
You’d better slow down.
Don’t dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won’t last.
Ever told your child,
We’ll do it tomorrow?
And in your haste,
Not see their sorrow?
Ever lost touch,
Let a good friendship die
Cause you never had time
To call and say, “Hi”?
You’d better slow down.
Don’t dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won’t last.
When you run so fast to get somewhere
You miss half the fun of getting there.
When you worry and hurry through your day,
It is like an unopened gift thrown away.
Life is not a race.
Do take it slower.
Hear the music
Before the song is over.

Picture Reference:
​https://www.sadanduseless.com/little-hippos/