Prosaic time

At some point over the next week I’ll sit myself down and look towards the year ahead. There are a few things on my mind, and perhaps a few changes to be made. Time enough for that soon, I go about my business while things shift in the background, like thunderheads looming on the horizon. The storm is to come, but for now lets enjoy the sunshine.

That’s what I’m doing: I’m enjoying the sunshine. This is a time of unthinking, which is the main reason I have added to this since before Christmas. For one of the few times of the year I’ve given myself permission to be a slob. I do indulgence quite easily, and relax better than most, but I am also of the type who needs to meet certain conditions before letting go completely. There’s always something to do after all – and me more than most – and so to utterly relax as I have these last few days means that I must first concede to it.

I’ve not done much of substance since Christmas. I’ve watched the cricket a bit, I’ve read a little. There’s a pile of old cooking magazines I’m working my way through with a pair of scissors, slicing out the recipes to keep in a very metrosexual way. I’ve spent some time doing that, and scanning them to my Mac. I’ve done some cooking, and will do more. For two days I didn’t move beyond the front gate and hardly thought about it, until last night I went to the Cheeses for a very leisurely and casual bottle of red and a freshly downloaded movie. The streets were quiet and uneventful but fort the police setting up a breath testing station on my way through. Today I have been up the road getting some groceries. That’s it.

Still, things are happening. I walk around feeling as if I have a loaded gun in my pants. That’s not unusual. I often feel as if I’m carrying a .44 magnum locked and loaded. What’s different this time is the cause, or the source of that. Difference is good though generally, in my strange book anyway.

Other things move into position without consideration. I meet with the Cheeses and think I have to be more open with the Mister next year, as he desires me to be, and as I should be. Driving home I reflected, certainly not for the first time, that I should moderate the mad competitiveness that resides within me. Am I getting too old for it? Or just too mature?

They’re not really things I want to think about for now. It’s the last few days of 2011, and I want to spend them in relative and ignorant ease. It’s been an ordinary year. Soon enough I’ll figure out how 2012 will be different, and why.

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