i like having breakfast. 
all by myself, when the house's finally empty for an hour exactly. i make myself an omlette: i cut the onions, i grind the pepper, i beat the eggs till they're fluffy. i grate cheese, i think about it guiltily before i put it in and then remember it when i do a lap less than i mean to. two slices of brown bread, these i put in the toaster and set it to '3'. i find some ripe mosambis, big and sweet and straight from our farm. i take three, cut them, juice them and refuse to add sugar. 
at ten o clock, at ten o clock exactly, i sit on the big sofa, turn on the tv and watch reruns of doctor who with breakfast.


smelly socks

found a note yesterday:

crumpled, torn at the edges
old, three years and four months
in a bag i haven't used since.

a list of things to do:

buy socks
find purple sweater
pay electricity bill

but even if it read:

fall in love
find a job
world peace -

i'd have written
the same note


(i take it nobody misses me? hi?)