There's Nothing To Do

I'm bored. There's nothing to do.

I'm hungry. What can I eat?

There's carrots,

but they have to be peeled and cut.

There's celery,

but that has to be washed and cut.

Onions, yuck.

Why do I even buy them?

They sit until spoiled, then I throw them out.

Apples,

but I'd need to peel them,

or the skin will get stuck in my teeth.

Oranges,

they'd need to be peeled or cut,

so I'll get pith stuck under my fingernails, or in my teeth.

Watermelon,

but it's big and heavy and messy to cut up.

Last night's leftovers,

but I have to dirty dishes to warm that up.

There's lunchmeat and cheese.

I could make a sandwich,

but there's no bread.

Wait, I don't even eat bread.

It's weird to make a sandwich without bread.

I should put the ingredients in the bread machine

and make some bread.

My kids would like that.

My dishwasher is full of clean dishes.

I should put them away.

The dryer is done.

I should unload that too.

Those clothes need to be folded and put away.

Ironing.

My daughter has two shirts that need ironing,

but then I have to drag out the ironing board.

I could go check the mail,

but it's so hot outside.

I should knit some more on my friend's sweater,

but my elbow hurts.

I could paint that picture that's been in my head,

but then I'd have to clear the table;

sort this pile of mail,

move these library books

(that I should read).

I wonder what's on TV.

Probably nothing.

I'm bored. There's nothing to eat.

There's nothing to do.

By: Paula D. Nevison