Wasted Time

I wasted a lot of time over the last week. Too much time.

I figure we're all marching towards death, one way or another. So every moment that you are NOT enjoying, you are WASTING. Every day that you work yourself to the bone, for some misguided sense of obligation or power or insecurity, you are rushing towards death. I know. I'm a recovering workaholic and I find myself sometimes sliding back to my bad old ways. Guess with all the things to do around the ranch and a series of visitors (more cooking, more cleaning, and way more conversation,) it was easy for me to "fall off the wagon" so to speak.

But today is another peaceful, sunny day. The air is fragrant with dry grass and wild fennel. I still have a thousand things to do, but I can resist the urge and just groove on the beauty of the place again. Hurray for me!

(Of course, part of me is merely postponing the dreaded chore of dealing with the HUGE dead rat caught in the chicken wire of the chicken coop. Eeeeew! I need to get it uncaught from the wire and bury it somewhere before it starts to decompose because if I wait until it does, I might as well wait until the damn thing skeletalizes. How long would that take? And wouldn't I have to see every step of the putrid process?)