With what little time I do have to spare after a hard day's work, is it any wonder that my brain refuses to embark in any further ruminating? And naturally my words will not write themselves, as all I yearn to do these days is to succumb to my lethargy and let my dreams take over.
But I must refrain from talking about work. Because my life is more than that, yes. And because I shouldn't be thinking about work on an off-day.
...My attention capacity is at a worrying level. I can't even finish a chapter properly, what more a book. And yet I still find myself handing over the cash to purchase another book. As I clutch the item close to my person, my mind wonders if this time will be any different from the last time I lost myself in a bookstore.
Whatever the response to that question may be, it ends with my forsaking that thought - because honestly, habits die hard - and praying to God that my self-control will eventually triumph over this materialistic want.
And so I peek into my purse, sigh into it, and chucked it into my bag and walk away, pushing whatever regret I may have into the back of my mind, until it reappears like a sceptre the next time I repeat this folly.
Shopaholic in the making? Goodness, I hope not.
Also, the number of pants that I have now is dangerously close to the number of skirts I already have. Which is worrying, considering that - if you knew me at all - I have never been a pants kind of a person.
Until recently, I suppose. Because there is no way on God's Earth can you wear a skirt or baju kurung and perform CPR without appearing...undignified.
Current Music: Call It What You Want - Foster the People
