The Art of Delayed Gratification.

According to the great sage of the Twentieth Century,
Edward P. Bear,
It is not in the actual eating of the honey,
That the true pleasure is found.
It is in the anticipation of eating the honey.
Those moments before,
Where thoughts stray to,
What eating honey shall be like.
Thoughts that are the culmination of
All prior pleasant experiences of eating honey,
With the heightened expectations
Of what this latest honey experience,
May be like.

This is why when expectations are not met,
For example if the honey jar is empty,
It can be so disappointing.
We cease to feel the pleasant feelings of anticipation.
Likewise;
If we have too much choice,
We also miss out on this wonderful feeling.
Where honey is on tap for example,
There is no joy in anticipating eating honey.

Live in the moment and find joy?
Nup!
Discover the divine practice,
Of the Art of Delayed Gratification.
Practise temperance,
Be grateful,
And find healthy experiences to look forward to.
Honey in moderation.

Heat

In days pre air conditioning,
The populous,
Those wealthy enough,
Would escape to the cool climes of their mountain retreats.
But today,
It is hot even in the mountains,
Where we presently swelter.

We are of the less modern ilk,
And scorn such extravagances as reverse-cycle air conditioning.
We live off grid.
So it is just hot.

No balmy sea breeze takes the edge off.
The water-tank filled swimming pool,
Is not even wading deep.
And the stagnant air is warm,
Beneath shady trees.

It is on these rare days,
Where lethargy and fractiousness reign,
And no productivity is possible,
That indolence and idleness should be embraced.

Escape

The water is warm.
The curtain creates a child cave.
I am hiding in the bath.
The exhaust fan issues a droning warning.
"Occupied do not enter."

For me,
It has been a TOO LONG period,
Of fraternal stimulation.
Guests,
Their physical needs,
And their mental anxieties catered for.
The mess of new high traffic areas.
The kitchen, the toilet bowl,
And where the children play.

There's the stress and strain,
Of an expanded nuclear family,
Who has indiosyncracies you are unaware of.
The inordinate amount of food preparation and resultant dishes.
Willing helpers whose ignorance of your household,
Makes them a hindrance.
Then there are the social dynamics.
Who will tolerate who, and for how long.

So for a least a while,
And perhaps a LONG while,
I shall recoup,
In this bath.

The Broken

When you,
And strangers come together,
And live,
Even temporarily,
You begin to understand,
That there are many broken people:
Couples,
Where one has lost their way.
And can't settle.
A cosmopolitan family,
Who cannot locate their home.
A man who has discovered his childhood sweetheart,
No longer is,
After fifty years.
And the one who must find herself,
In the approval of  others.
Fills the gap with strangers she meets in cyberspace,
Trusting no one.

Packing

Strewn,
Articles of clothing,
Packages which once contained,
Toothpaste, insect repellent, socks.
Amidst this,
The detritus of everyday,
The clothes of yesterday,
Maintaining some of my body's shapes.
Shredded vertically.
A cold cup of tea,
The cream a stagnant scum.
Bed unmade,
And around the room,
Piles,
In their multitudes.
Piles that make sense,
Like with like.
Piles that are a cacophony of clutter.
And beneath one of these,
My bags half packed.

ASD

I hate that Aspergers is described as a disorder.
In fact I hate that Aspergers doesn't exist,
Since it was dropped from the new DSM 5.
And what would those phsychologists know anyway?
Do they have the amazing sensory processing experience,
That can be described as Aspergers?
Well of course not.
Ah but we do,
And we know what it feels like on the inside:
The logical rationality.
The precision.
The super dooper focus.
Having the nose that knows.
Being so in tuned with others emotions,
That we are overwhelmed.
No empathy?
Bullshit!
Hyper-empathy!
Honest, loyal and way smart.
When my world is dishing me up a fair deal.
i.e:
Exhibiting honesty and integrity,
And speaking in precise English,
Not body language mega-babble,
Mixed with innuendo and emotional clap trap,
And exhibiting insecure tribalism.
Then there is no disorder about it.
And I can let my Aspergian super powers,
Soar...

Procrastination or Disorganisation

I just can't get my shit together.
It is taking an inordinate amount of time to organise,
My bedroom, my house,
And my life in general.
I can see in my minds eye how to do it.
But the details,
It is always the details,
Oh and the interruptions.
And then there are the wasted journeys,
When you find yourself somewhere,
And you cant remember why you where.
And the whole process is just so fatiguing,
That you lie on the bedroom floor,
And feel panicked at how much time has elapsed,
And how little you have achieved.
Being organised is my preferred state,
But getting organised is always a challenge.
I work very very hard at it.
I do not suffer from procrastination,
Just disorganisation.