The Old Life: Sleep at 11pm. Wake up after a fitful nights sleep and snuggle deeper into the covers for those extra 5 minutes of blissful sleep.
The New Life: Sleep at 11pm. Wake up at 12.30am and 1.34am and 3.38am and 4.24am and 6.08am and finally at 7.22am.
The Old Life: Worm my way through books bought and borrowed.
The New Life: Began a book 1st week of September. And I'm only 45 pages through a 324pg book.
The Old Life: Darling G gets back home to a kiss a hug and a big smile.
The New Life: G please can you throw these soiled pj's into the washer.
The Old Life: Weekend agenda. A facial. A manicure. A pedicure. Straighten my hair. Pluck my eyebrows.
The New life: It's been a month since I've been able to get myself into a salon to get my eyebrows done.
The Old Life: I would have watched the T20 finals yesterday ball to ball glued to my chair.
The New Life: I did watch the match though in bits and parts.
The Old Life: Weekends typically would mean getting together, planning menu's, shopping for books, clothes and essentials. Lazing in the front of the telly watching foodie shows on Travel & Living.
The New Life: Weekends go in the wink of an eye. So does Mon, Tues, Wed......
The Old Life: So what's so different. The same routine. The same agenda over the weekend. The same work.....
The New Life: Squeals, Giggles, Laughter, Rolling and Bumping. And waking up each morning to see that million watt smile.
And I look at Darling G and we smile and we know life's complete.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Paintings in mind.
Long strips of clear sand beaches.
An aquamarine sea. Choppy at times and calm at others.
A harmattan thatched roof of a little shack.
Cane chairs with ripped upholstery and ketchup stains , sinking into the sand.
A rickety table with a red checked tablecloth.
Chipped white porcelain plates with greasy fried fish.
Sand in my hair, my mouth, my feet.
Bottle after bottle of cold cold beer.
No meetings, no deadlines, no artworks to chase, no strategies to make, no rushing to work, no rushing back home, no cooking.
I'd give my left arm to be off to a nice beach place for a holiday.
But suffice to say... its just.... paintings in my mind.
An aquamarine sea. Choppy at times and calm at others.
A harmattan thatched roof of a little shack.
Cane chairs with ripped upholstery and ketchup stains , sinking into the sand.
A rickety table with a red checked tablecloth.
Chipped white porcelain plates with greasy fried fish.
Sand in my hair, my mouth, my feet.
Bottle after bottle of cold cold beer.
No meetings, no deadlines, no artworks to chase, no strategies to make, no rushing to work, no rushing back home, no cooking.
I'd give my left arm to be off to a nice beach place for a holiday.
But suffice to say... its just.... paintings in my mind.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)