of my own 24 hours
If I had my own 24 hours, selfishly mine and not to be bothered with you and yours, what would I do?
To be practical, a good 7 hours for sleeping. That’s at night, but you can’t fault me for planning ahead. Now, what should I do on a beautiful, blue-skies day? 30 minutes of jogging around the neighbourhood, looking at the familiar roads that my ma used to drive us through to get us to school and back. Thinking about her, hoping she’s safe wherever and that she’s loved. Jogging enough to get my heart pumping and myself smiling.
Then, a breakfast of toast and half-boiled eggs with my dad. Tell him what I’ve got up my sleeves for the day, the week, but because he’s hard of hearing at times, I remind myself to speak slower and louder. Then again, he always hears things that I try to gloss over. Sneaky dad. I would also check with my sister what her plans are for the day. Wonder about our brother, wonder if he’s sleeping well. All in all, would this be 2 hours, if we give or take a shower and time to cool down?
I’d take a walk to the library, a good 20 minutes away, but because the skies are so gorgeous, the wind is just the right amount of wild, it will be a good walk. Walking through the library doors, wondering and anticipating what books I can spot and borrow today. Will it be a few on Fantasy, on dragons and magic that just colour my mind up so quickly? Will it be a whimsical Romance, just like how I used to look at Life with hopes of an idealist? I bet I’d grab ten books, four too many for the quota of six. Then I’d hem, haw, think about which books shouldn’t come home with me. Yet another two hours would slip by.
With my eco-bag filled with books, I’d wander to the supermarket and look at rows and rows of fresh (as they can get) vegetables and fruits and try to figure out how much I can carry home and how much is too much. Leave me in a supermarket, or a pharmacy, and I would walk my way through the aisles and take forever to decide on what’s a “need” and what’s a “want”. Tsk tsk, an hour already?
Carrying my loot home, I’d put things where they ought to be, and finally, oh finally I get to sit down on the couch and start reading the books I brought home. Of course, that would be after I made myself a few dishes from the cookbook that I’ve always wanted to refer to. And y’know what? I’d forget the time as the pages flip by, as the story unfolds and I wonder what’s next to come. I’d be kidding myself if I didn’t factor in time to check tweets, emails and even update my friends on how today went (fantastic!).
But because 24 hours can’t possibly be just mine alone, my imagination ends here. It was good while it lasted though.
To be practical, a good 7 hours for sleeping. That’s at night, but you can’t fault me for planning ahead. Now, what should I do on a beautiful, blue-skies day? 30 minutes of jogging around the neighbourhood, looking at the familiar roads that my ma used to drive us through to get us to school and back. Thinking about her, hoping she’s safe wherever and that she’s loved. Jogging enough to get my heart pumping and myself smiling.
Then, a breakfast of toast and half-boiled eggs with my dad. Tell him what I’ve got up my sleeves for the day, the week, but because he’s hard of hearing at times, I remind myself to speak slower and louder. Then again, he always hears things that I try to gloss over. Sneaky dad. I would also check with my sister what her plans are for the day. Wonder about our brother, wonder if he’s sleeping well. All in all, would this be 2 hours, if we give or take a shower and time to cool down?
I’d take a walk to the library, a good 20 minutes away, but because the skies are so gorgeous, the wind is just the right amount of wild, it will be a good walk. Walking through the library doors, wondering and anticipating what books I can spot and borrow today. Will it be a few on Fantasy, on dragons and magic that just colour my mind up so quickly? Will it be a whimsical Romance, just like how I used to look at Life with hopes of an idealist? I bet I’d grab ten books, four too many for the quota of six. Then I’d hem, haw, think about which books shouldn’t come home with me. Yet another two hours would slip by.
With my eco-bag filled with books, I’d wander to the supermarket and look at rows and rows of fresh (as they can get) vegetables and fruits and try to figure out how much I can carry home and how much is too much. Leave me in a supermarket, or a pharmacy, and I would walk my way through the aisles and take forever to decide on what’s a “need” and what’s a “want”. Tsk tsk, an hour already?
Carrying my loot home, I’d put things where they ought to be, and finally, oh finally I get to sit down on the couch and start reading the books I brought home. Of course, that would be after I made myself a few dishes from the cookbook that I’ve always wanted to refer to. And y’know what? I’d forget the time as the pages flip by, as the story unfolds and I wonder what’s next to come. I’d be kidding myself if I didn’t factor in time to check tweets, emails and even update my friends on how today went (fantastic!).
But because 24 hours can’t possibly be just mine alone, my imagination ends here. It was good while it lasted though.