Sunday, September 03, 2006

Twelfth Sunday after Trinity, but who cares?

Struggled through church today wishing I was still in bed. The high point was when one of the light bulbs exploded just after the Nicene Creed and woke everyone up. Nobody was hurt but it did provide the only excitement of the morning. Even the hymns were long and dreary. Afterwards, I did my chores and slipped away as soon as possible to get a much-needed nap (I was up during the night feeling totally wired - way too much coffee yesterday. Ye gods, I won't do that again ...) while Lord H went off to practise on the range with his new golf club.

This afternoon, I've caught up with yesterday's Star Trek, and plan to ring Mother and then have an evening doing as little as possible. I might do some writing of "The Gifting" but only if the mood takes me - we'll see. I should have cleaned the car too but, frankly, I can't be arsed. I'm fed up with doing everything I'm supposed to do. Maybe it's time to kick ass on the bloody routine. Here's hoping, eh?

And I'm dreading tomorrow and already getting the Sunday night depression - God, I hate Mondays. They're crap.

This week's haiku:

At your funeral
a butterfly danced; not you
but something close.

Today's three nice things:

1. The lightbulb explosion
2. Star Trek
3. My glass of lunchtime sherry.

Anne Brooke

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