Undone and Waiting

Right now, there is a pile of clean laundry on my bed, waiting to be folded, and a pile of dirty laundry in a plastic basket, waiting to be taken down to the washing machine. There are piles of mail waiting to be sorted--one on the bed, one on top of a portable filing box, one scattered around on the floor next to the same filing box. There is a house waiting (probably in vain) to be cleaned. There is an envelope waiting to be taken to the post office.

There is a Beethoven sonata waiting to be practised. There is a piano composition by a woman whose name I can't remember, waiting to be started.

There are novels and stories and poems by other people waiting to be read. There are my stories, waiting to be written.

Ah, the day is slipping by so fast. I am leaving so much undone... and waiting.