This evening, coming home on the train, I was thinking about some souffles I cooked, in a flat that I stayed in, before I moved in to another flat, before I moved in to this house, three years ago. And all of a sudden, I thought, 'hmm, wonder if I turned the oven off.' Funnily enough I couldn't remember anything about that at all, and a familiar nagging, niggling feeling of anxiety started up.
It's nice to have a nagging, niggling feeling of anxiety three years after you would be expected to have a nagging, niggling feeling of anxiety about something. So much less responsibility involved.
UPDATE! - Poem!
It is nice to remember
What you had forgot
Some 20 years after
You can do not-a-lot.
It is fine to drift back
To that fatal day
Now you are thousands (and thousands)
Of miles away.
It is sweet to hark back,
To fondly recall
Now that all you can do
Is one half of stuff all.
It is calming to think back
And not feel regret,
Though I'm free and you're not,
My darling Annette.
And in case you're wondering who Annette is, she's a person who had the bad luck to rhyme with 'regret'.
What you had forgot
Some 20 years after
You can do not-a-lot.
It is fine to drift back
To that fatal day
Now you are thousands (and thousands)
Of miles away.
It is sweet to hark back,
To fondly recall
Now that all you can do
Is one half of stuff all.
It is calming to think back
And not feel regret,
Though I'm free and you're not,
My darling Annette.
3 comments:
Souffles. Tee hee.
Aha ha. Why not Babette, or coquette? They are as French and soufflesque as Anette. I'm off to check on the stove now.
Kitchen set, dinner set, upset, faucet. I continue to suspect there is a joke in those words.
Not a good one, but a joke nonetheless.
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