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Burnt toast

I am like burned toast. Over cooked, burned out, mentally tired. I am the frayed edge of a favorite dish towel or the pills puckering the front of a favorite sweater. I would like to believe that the long weekend I have would alleviate my sense of tension and restore my tensile strength and resiliency. That is my hope. That is my petition. It is my silent prayer this morning. I have been careful not to stack my time off with must-do chores and errands. If I simply lie on my back and watch the clouds float past in the windows above, that might be enough. That might help. And in the wise words of the Farmer in the sweet movie Babe, “That’ll do pig. That’ll do.”

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