Too Late

Things I should have done and am too late to do are necessary for me to survive the challenges getting nearer and nearer. Those things and my wasted precious time have become my dull headache from which I try to distract myself with relaxing things that nibble away at my willingness to leave my illusionary shelter built in my mind. Comfortable leisure reduces my battery capacity so that I don't have enough power to cope with my tasks and then tiredness, boredom, and fear urge me to slide to the attractive leisure although every night I try to recharge my battery as nearly fully as possible. It is so late that there is no cure for the withering fruit plants in my field, no harvest can be expected, and I wish I had taken good care of them instead of succumbing to my laziness, so I weave a false dream for myself, of a sweet feast of delicious fruit.