Downsizing the downsizing plan—instant poem

A downsizing plan

After 6 hours 48 minutes asleep
(according to my phone)
I sprang out of bed
did the preprandials 
at double speed
because Wednesday keeps 
in its cardboard kayak
the remaining dates
of this peak week 
downsized to four:
a social sea-swim
plate-glass Pilates
a friendly scone 
and (maybe) Hula by Zoom.

Then my brain gave a hint
that it planned to go slushy
to punish me 
for smashing
its floating routine 
so I said OK brain
my good little brain
you done good work
in last week's mandatory 
RAT-bitten writer's retreat.
Take a sick day. Take radio.
Take Middlemarch by audio.
Take your eyes away 
from the screen.

And thus we have floated
(my brain and I)
through a zig-zag day
and Raffles is dead
his sleazy secret 
off like an eel
and Bulstrode has got his come-uppance
and Rosamund is mourning her stuff
and my clipboard is spattered
with a grandiose plan 
to downsize three rooms into one
for no reason except I was empty
and one day I might have to 
and it could be a painful sort of fun.

But my downsizing plan
needs downsizing
into a million
tiny eggs
to 
be 
fertilized
and 
hatched
one
by
one
by
one.

~ Rachel McAlpine (to be amended)

(I know. These are not sonnets. But thanks for pointing it out.)

PS I have heard that Rosamund and Tertius have been engaged to star in Married At First Sight Middlemarch.

PPS This is my third encounter (at least) with Middlemarch by George Eliot, and this time I’m listening to the audiobook provided free by LIBBY, a public library app. So much depends on the reader, and this reader, Juliet Aubrey, is perfect.