It's one of those weekends when I don't feel very well. Health is one of those blessings that you only realise when it's gone away. And I sit here in my little cradle with a cup of tea that often turns cold before my third sip.
Dearest tea, you've gone cold too soon.
who is going to warm up the aching pores of my old soul now.
I look out through the sliding door in my balcony and notice a little bird poop on it. It is white like toothpaste, but disgusting because it is a poop. Most of us, would agree that poop is disgusting.
Dear birdie, I love your songs but your business here, is not welcome.
I hear a faint cry of a lawn mower. I imagine the lawn mower man wearing a budenovka to cover up his head from the heat, with a towel underneath the cap, covering half of his face and absorbing his gracefully falling drops of sweat.
Thank you for doing a job that most of us refuse to do. I hope you love your job like I love mine.
I hear a sound of metal pots clicking. I guess the neighbour has started cooking lunch. It's nearly afternoon. I wonder if I should start cooking too. It's very challenging to cook for one person. There is always a bowl of soup left, a few scoops of rice sticking at the pot, half of the omelette untouched, half loaf of bred gone mouldy, I don't want a house-mate though. I just need someone to eat with.
Thank you neighbour, for reminding me of the time.
I caught myself fan-gazing again. My head is running wild. It takes me to a pretty face of an admiring lady I met, a very respectable and successful lady. She has all my respect for the knowledge and working attitude. Oh how I adore her entertaining bubbly character. Then, I learn that she is struggling with her married life.
Life. Stop reminding me that I cannot have everything.
Dear Saturday, how many fail attempts does it take before someone decides to really really really give up?