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Tired from doing too little

Today is the kind of day that makes me hate being here. It’s wet, the sky is the colour of a dirty white pillow, and it blocks out all sound. The house is empty but for my sister watching TV, a mindnumbing drone which gives nothing but lethargy to the viewer.

On the 26th we went to visit some family friends and spent the afternoon and night laughing and eating. The 27th was my birthday and was packed full of people and eating and partying.

Yesterday I don’t think I was really conscious before 3pm, at which point we went to a bunch of malls, I bought a diary for 2010, and in the evening we watched a DVD. I stayed up late because I wasn’t tired because, let’s face it, I’m having very lazy days, and I’ve been eating enough to feed most of Kwamashu.

Really, really not amped that it’s eleven a.m on a Tuesday morning of my holidays and there’s nothing to do. I mean, I could start reading one of my poetry anthologies for my English course. I could also iron my shirt. Or unpack the dishwasher. Yeahhhh.

I’m tempted to catch buses and go into town, but I can’t find a reason why I’d want to spend hours waiting for buses that come late, sit in buses that are stuck in traffic, all to walk in temperatures toooo close to zero degrees, just so I can have a look at shops which sell things I don’t want and cannot buy.

In a few hours it will be lunch, we will put on the TV which will tell us about the guy who killed his neighbour, the priest who became a murderer, the hell in Iran, the rescuers who died trying to save someone in the Alps, and the floods in Tuscany. While we’re tucking into our third plate of food, we’ll watch the special on Health, which tells us to take in more fruits and liquids, and less carbohydrates. Over coffee we’ll ruminate how the world is really in a rut at the moment, and who knows what my children will face.

Eventually we’ll rise from the table and pack everything away, disappearing to do God knows what for another bunch of grey hours, until we start talking about what to have for dinner, and then we’ll have dinner, while watching the evening news about the guy who killed his neighbour, the priest who became a murderer, the hell in Iran, the rescuers who died trying to save someone in the Alps, and the floods in Tuscany.

Rant. Over.

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