I have measured out my life in ... *

I was almost seduced into using a photo of something rather typical in this neck of the woods - a brightly-lit Christmas tree beside Blairmore Pier, contrasting with the dark grey sea and the dusk falling over the water - but have decided to branch out once more into the domestic instead. Partly this is because the allusion in the title to one of the odder poems I used to teach to a sufficiently bright and creative class was too much to resist. If you don't know Eliot's The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock, please do follow the link; meanwhile know that I often mutter to myself "I have measured out my life in onion skins" just because the wee bits - and the garlic skins can be worse - haunt me like a passion. Meanwhile, Himself's collection of used coffee pods is growing irritatingly on my limited worktop and I would really like him to put them into the bag in which they will be collected - in due time - for recycling. 

I was incredibly sleepy after breakfast today - sat down for a moment in a comfy chair and found I'd fallen asleep again - but managed to revive somewhat with strong coffee (not the Nespresso this time, but a cafetière which is my speciality.) Himself went off to practise the organ and I did some extra Italian and read the paper online and that was it.

In the afternoon I drove out to Blairmore to go a walk with Di in her neck of the woods for a change, along the shore road through the village and out along the Loch Long-side road. It rained, on and off, with varying degrees of enthusiasm, and we were walking briskly enough for me to feel hot for a change. A terrifying Alsatian barked madly at us as we passed in the gloaming,  close enough to bring on a heart attack, and the road home had three substantial floods to drive through and far too many oncoming cars.

And then there was the News again, and once again the evidence of power being wielded and the dispossessed of the world being sacrificed. And I heard that the nurse wants a face-to-face to discuss my blood sugar ...

I think I'll read Prufrock again before bed. 

*https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/44212/the-love-song-of-j-alfred-prufrock