No Time for Rhyme

There’s time for all of it, of course, but I’m not feeling the poetry. What I am feeling is a touch of antsy(ness). So, I’m gonna ramble on . . .

Caveat lector.

Antsy can be good. Consider those ants here. And then consider that adding the “y” turns it into an adjective which describes a guy who is not adept at inaction unless he has a helper, a helper who need do nothing really, except be with the guy/ant and give the word, and then he would do nothing too.

If he were in a colony, he’d just be working, moving, building, whatever, unless he had a queen. Then, he’d also be working, moving, etc. but with purpose and a fair amount of reason (unless the queen caused him to lose his mind). And if the queen were to say, “Stop; be still!”, he’d smile and say, “As you wish.” And he’d feverishly do nothing or everything as the queen wished it.

I’m that kind of antsy, see, because sure I have plenty to do, but I cannot do much of it because I’d need to lift over ten pounds if I did it, and that might undo the doing of a very fine minor surgery. And it gets worse, believe me, because I am mostly metric. So, I can’t do it if it means lifting only 4.53592 kilograms! And that nurse is telling me DON”T DO IT.

WAIT!—until that cut is healed sufficiently for you to lift the load, any load that is over 4.54 K.

So, I will wait, and then I will be busy again. And I may find the time for rhyme . . .


Photograph “Open on one side only” © 2018 Timothy Waugh