Thursday 4 February 2016


The buttered side of one’s proverbial piece of (nowadays probably sourdough) toast hitting the floor has made wisdom status, but what about when you water the plants, already late, on your way out the door, now very late, and they start dripping and your floor’s wood? Or when you take out the bin, don’t put a swizzle-thing thing on it like you’re supposed to, you know you are, because you’re going to take it down immediately, sure you will, ok, so, just for a second you put it down in the hall, making, of course, sure it’s balanced and when you’re back, 1.5 seconds later, ok maybe more, it’s all over the place? Or what about when you’re vacuuming and see there’s all kind of crap on the windowsill because who even cleans there, think hell, I’ll give it a quick swoop, aren’t I good, but darned if I’m going to move all the small pieces of sentiment, memory and oddly shaped love-token-rocks before I do so, I’m not that good, and you swoop and SWOOP, there go your memories, whizzing around in the vacuum cleaner bag. How about that quiet morning to yourself, no one home, you in bed reading the papers, a coffee cup balanced on your mattress - a balancing act so obviously impossible to anyone else that one should read ‘impossible’ as ‘forbidden’ - and then the cat jumps up, cute purr purr cute, and there’s coffee all over the bed just as you warned would happen to everyone but yourself, because somewhere deep inside you think you’re just that little bit better or at least more in control of the universe? 


When you’re thinking your darkly prejudiced thoughts like that, coffee and cat all over the place, you obviously forgot the time you vacuumed (a different time) and then dropped three bags of sugar, or all those times you just had to sample whatever you were cooking you were so hungry and of course it was way too hot and you knew that but you did it anyway and you burned your mouth so you could no longer taste dinner which was ready a whole three minutes later, and you certainly haven't  paused to consider the way in which lentils have a tendency to take a dive off your fork (you are once again sampling at the stove) once it’s reached its zenith, the fork I mean, and of course they all roll teeny-weeny into all the places you not only cannot reach but you JUST CLEANED.

It’s a good thing I don’t really eat toast. 
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