My day, week, month

ideally contains

just enough




to "feel" full.

Not so much that,

at its end,

I am spent, hungry, used up--

longing for

someone else

to cook my dinner

while I stare into the fire

martini in hand.

It's tricky,

this time thing.

Too much activity, even dancing or

selling clothes

puts me into catatonia.

Yet boredom too

a whole day with even a great book

is just too much silence and sitting for me.

I need to clean the attic,

do a load of laundry

look at Facebook.

So I strive for busyness

but just enough.

A long swim,

lunch with a friend,

a writing group,

then peeling carrots for cassoulet.