It’s Monday night. I stayed all day in the flat. Most hours spent sleeping in my room escaping “chitchats” with anyone. Okay, I get easily bored with chats-turned-longgg-story-telling; that I have nothing to do with; give me stiff neck; and make me see or imagine hazy shapes that I’d ask myself if I am still awake, just imagining things, or if I’m already in a coma while someone keeps on talking.
So anyway, I am not here to vent out about that.
Let’s start again.
It’s Monday night. First day of Holidays that should have spent unwinding outside with friends. But I opted to sleep the day away and recover from last night’s shenanigans. (translation: just loads of laughter and some social drinks that could pass as a soda. Sigh. I’m getting old.)
I could have spent my day finishing the paper works I took home, or painting, or drawing. Or I could have cleaned my room! My sexy inner voice whispered to me that I should just lie on my back, watch re-runs of FRIENDS, and eat some chips. Oh that b*tch! I was fooled again. Sorry waistline!
I could have read a book. There is a stack of books on my bedside table begging me to open them. And e-books on my phone screeching to let me know they are still there.
I am imagining things way too much. I could have written a book!
If I want to write a book, I need an inspiration. A
boyfriend vacation would be nice; set foot in Europe; dine in al fresco; meet the eyes of a gorgeous stranger..
I could have just really cleaned my room. I’d do that tomorrow morning.