I awoke to a call this late morning which rearranged the minute perimeters in my head and I had this sudden urge to savour every little bit of this holiday that I'm having.
The languid afternoons of eclectic leftovers for lunch (hokkien mee and clam chowder!), with nothing more pressing than deciding what would be the choice of visual entertainment for the hour, lolling around in bed and thumbing through the television guide.
After two days, I'm getting so comfortably accustomed to such an insouciant lifestyle that the mere thought of doing anything mildly exertive (like changing out of my pjs and taking the bus) sends me into a mini panic attack.
Quite a disgustingly lazy thought, but I'd like to think it's the fogged out brain and germ-filled nostrils that has relegated me to such a mellow state.
Actually, I think it's true!
It's the flu, I tell you.
Of all noteworthy mentions, as I was lying bed last night, I felt a sliver of light slicing across my face; quite terribly distracting especially since I love sleeping in pitch darkness.
But very interestingly, it was the moon coincidentally and strategically positioned at the crack of my drawn curtains casting a clear and luminous blade of light, cutting across my face.
And the first thought that came to my mind was Roald Dahl's BFG (I think..?), because I vaguely remember that sliver of moonlight written on the first page, and for that reason (again I think.. or maybe it's Prison Break!!!!) it sent me into a night of farfetched and fanciful dreams littered with the odd specks of reality.
Very disconcerting.
At this moment, I'm feeling my capricious and scatter-brained self, wanting to grasp and capture everything however fleeting, wanting to hurtle headlong into a variety of activities, and just to let you know...
It's a very irritating feeling.
I feel like throwing myself into a television show and never coming out, because this onrush of useless thoughts and mad scrambling in my head is too much for my sick body to take.
The languid afternoons of eclectic leftovers for lunch (hokkien mee and clam chowder!), with nothing more pressing than deciding what would be the choice of visual entertainment for the hour, lolling around in bed and thumbing through the television guide.
After two days, I'm getting so comfortably accustomed to such an insouciant lifestyle that the mere thought of doing anything mildly exertive (like changing out of my pjs and taking the bus) sends me into a mini panic attack.
Quite a disgustingly lazy thought, but I'd like to think it's the fogged out brain and germ-filled nostrils that has relegated me to such a mellow state.
Actually, I think it's true!
It's the flu, I tell you.
Of all noteworthy mentions, as I was lying bed last night, I felt a sliver of light slicing across my face; quite terribly distracting especially since I love sleeping in pitch darkness.
But very interestingly, it was the moon coincidentally and strategically positioned at the crack of my drawn curtains casting a clear and luminous blade of light, cutting across my face.
And the first thought that came to my mind was Roald Dahl's BFG (I think..?), because I vaguely remember that sliver of moonlight written on the first page, and for that reason (again I think.. or maybe it's Prison Break!!!!) it sent me into a night of farfetched and fanciful dreams littered with the odd specks of reality.
Very disconcerting.
At this moment, I'm feeling my capricious and scatter-brained self, wanting to grasp and capture everything however fleeting, wanting to hurtle headlong into a variety of activities, and just to let you know...
It's a very irritating feeling.
I feel like throwing myself into a television show and never coming out, because this onrush of useless thoughts and mad scrambling in my head is too much for my sick body to take.
I love television; such variety in a single-tracked vein :)
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