I dropped the tax papers off for the accountant.
I saw the doctor. “Nothing to worry about,” he said.
I bought shoes, went home for lunch, and napped.
Then made appointments, sent a sample of my voice,
spoke to someone about casting. I tried to read
a book about poetry, but it was boring.
It’s 4:45, too early to cook dinner. I may make
fritters. I have time to waste, to fritter away.
This time, like time well spent, is my life.