It's 25 minutes to 8 on a sunny summer's evening, and I've 25 minutes until Smiley's bed time routine begins. Oh, and I'm bored.
I used to think that only boring people got bored, but obviously I've changed my mind about that.
The kitchen is cleanish, the carpets have been hoovered, the washing has been put away, and no-one needs me.
With less than half a hour, what on earth could I do? If I was young and enthusiastic I'd probably dash upstairs, throw on some running gear and head around the block a few times. But I'm not, so I won't.
You probably know that 'escape' is one of my favourite words by now, but how could I manage it and get back before 8?
I could read, but even that feels like too much work.
I don't do arts and crafts, at least not now. The piano sits unplayed in the back room, and what tune could I tap out on it now after 10 years without practicing?
I could pull up some weeds, but the jungle outside the back door is so bad now that getting up close and personal with the dandelions and nettles would be depressing, especially as there are so many out there.
I could try to enjoy the view, but it's not very exciting...
There's blog posts and twitter stories I could read, but I can't be bothered right now.
All I can think of to do are things that I did today and yesterday and will probably do tomorrow. It's boring. It's all the same, and there's no excitement for me in familiarity. I'm unlike my children, who seem to crave it's blanket-like security.
So what did I do with my time?
Well I chopped up a few bananas for the freezer and wrote this.
What would you have done?
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