Sunday, July 18, 2004

Weekends are too short

The pelicans have moved. Usually they roost on rocks near the boat ramp jetty. But there have been gales this week. It is the coldest it gets and the wind howls around the house at night. But in the lee of the Bluff, it is sheltered - so the pelicans have mooved to rocks very near the shore in the shadow of the Bluff. There, they hunch up against the weather, beaks tucked under wings. And, like us, they wait for this blasted winter to be over.
It's been a girls weekend, just Annie and me. We have achieved some productive work - and a lot of knitting. But once one gets the working juices going, the scarey thing is the way in which time slithers from beneath one. I have so much more to do. I worked on one commission. There is another, albeit with a deadline next week. And then there are the five books I have to assess and the mighty tome I am supposed to have finished before interview its author in the morning. More than a person can do on their time off - so the weekend also is burdened with that sense of "where did the hours go?"
So, I can't afford to sit here thinking about it...I had better pick up that over-fat book and read myself to sleep. Back to town in the morning - the cruel wrench away from my lovely stormy sea.

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