Sometimes, in the silent stillness of a quiet Sunday afternoon spent alone at home, after another week of workplace hell, it seems as though i feel the passing of every moment. Think grains of sand slipping through fingers.
Being alone is not an issue for me. Yes i get lonely sometimes but i don't have to be alone. It is what it is.
Thoughts move slowly, unlike the mental ticker-tape of yesteryear, through an ageing mind and where once i wanted i find myself almost wishing that i wanted. The few surviving wants appearing then disappearing like ghosts have been relegated to mere fancies, and the importance of it all, like those small grains of sand, gently drift off out of sight and out of mind.
The image of an old leaky boat comes to mind. She's not as sea worthy as she once might have been and so in order to remain afloat one is constantly sifting through the baggage. Prioritising, re-prioritising and so it goes. The weather weighs heavy nowadays with every element feeling so extreme. Imaginings of things once yearned for come and go and i smile a wry smile. Did any of it really matter? I suppose it must have. Once upon lifetime.
Just a silly old dither, flotsam.