As determined as I am to not transform my journal (doesn't that sound a lot fancier than 'blog?') into a 'this-is-what-I-had-for-breakfast' and 'here-is-how-my-weekend-turned-out' kind of a place, the subject line has the exact same feeling to it. But yes, my feet are cold. I am wearing socks, yes. I think I should wear knee-length socks.
Inane, inane, inane!
You know that feeling of near-feverishness that plagues the mind and fingers, so they race in tandem through webpages, over the keyboard, typing out comments, dashing off emails, sending messages on Google Talk… and then I wonder – why was I in such a tearing hurry? There was no fire burning, no emergency. Yet, this hurry to get done with "stuff" was so tangible that I hardly sipped water this morning. Or paused for a break. It almost seems like I held my breath for the last three hours. Yes, I possibly did that. No wonder I feel so suffocated and cold, gasping.
Friday holds the promise of a fun-filled weekend, days of freedom and frolicking with friends and their little ones. Baah, I feel so drained this morning that only a warm cup of tea can revive me. That, and 'La's Orchestra Saves the World' by Alexander McCall Smith. I am turning into a grandmother at the ripe old age of 33. Warm socks, cups of tea, gentle books penned by gentle authors…
