In all the busyness Or really all the sitting and reading and writing
That never ceases to end
[Well, for another 8 weeks. And then you can refer to me as ‘master’]
And in the midst of the unknown, once again
Of so many different things: job. relationships. travels.
Of trying to find routine and be settled.
To define myself somehow in the complexity I understand of myself
Regardless, I can control what I put in my body. The bread is rising
for sandwiches. And toast: what’s a late evening without tea and toast?
I am sitting with a copy of ‘kinfolk’
Gifted from a dear friend who understands my identity
Of bringing people together and eating
Good. Simple. Food.
And the work that goes behind it. Because even a simple loaf of bread
Takes time.
If I try to rush it before its proper rising, resting and rising again
It is like a rock, better to chuck at the perpetually barking dog in the back alley way.
Than to nourish.
I have been complaining about being in this constant state of unknown
and about being in lincoln, where life moves at a snail pace,
where wearing husker gear is appropriate at any and all occasions,
where brunch is non-existent
and often one can see the bottom of their mug through the coffee poured.
where ‘classy’ means putting a floral design on it
and greenspace cannot be recognized beyond corn fields.
yet all in all
i try to remember the good. and unexpected.
and the beauty in the simplicity. often times, we crave
simpler lives with less material goods
but even simple lives have complications
What is mundane can bring an onset of bored apathy and the gimmees,
or it can push. stretch. create.
Because sometimes we stop thinking about what we eat
As in the same way, we stop thinking about why we are doing what we are doing,
reaching for what is more convenient, Rather than waiting.
Oh I am an impatient person.
