JUST five more sleeps … You count them.
You turn to your May’s Chemist calendar stuck onto the window frame in your beloved tin office-turning-storeroom, just to make sure.
Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday.
You stick out your little finger on your left hand, and squash the others into your palm with your thurmb.
You don’t want any miscalculations.
Your right hand index finger lands plum on the little one that’s sticking out.
One. Two Your ring finger extends and your index finger lands on it.
Three. Same thing. Four. Five. Your thumb shoots off in the other direction.
You could do with 10 sleeps. Followed by a bacon and egg breakfast.
.Oh, is that an eyelash on your yolk?
You frown at it and loop it off with the tip of the knife.
Not that you’ve got much appetite.
There’s no place for food in a guts.that’s gone nuts breeding butterflies.
Whoppers these things are too. Giants.
Batting about making you dizzy. Are these blighters stirring delight or dread?
You can’t tell. Both leave you breathless and bewildered.
You lie on your bed. Your fingers find each other behind your head.
Your legs snuggle into crossed (swollen) ankles.
Yesterday, ah the wonder of yesterday ….
You lips stretch and flatten over your teeth.
It startles you, this smile. Just like that, your cheeks push in to the lines around your eyes.
No more turbulence. It’s plain sailing from here. Steady.