Too warm. I like summer. The heatwave hits Europe. And I admit that I now understand the siesta culture in hot countries. I do not want to admit it. Even to myself. I do not want to join in the choir of complaints. I love summer. Still my productivity drops. Too warm.
Too busy. A new business. A new job. New love. Travels. There is a lot of commotion in my life right now. And that is exactly how I love it. Being busy. Yet, when I look at all the things I want to do, my list gets longer each day. Despite – or as a result of – being. Too busy.
Too many excuses. My great aunt always told about me: “She finds excuses faster than a mouse can find its hole.” And I agree. Wholeheartedly so. Too many excuses. As a result, this poem leaves me with a resolution: no more excuses. I am busy. Never too busy. It is warm. Never too warm.