My life is so boring. People on Facebook post about Things they did on a Sunday afternoon. I slept for two and a half hours because I caught the sun after stepping out for five minutes. I also fed the cat, brought dog home, read a long interview about James Franco, made a stylesheet of sorts for the grammar series and wrote two mails. Ate. While I was bringing her home, there was this guy from upstairs who secretly came down to smoke pot in the darkened passageway. The whole place smelt of it. I was yelling at Puti and Lily at the time so that they kept off each other, while this guy walked steadily away. I was tempted to go up and ask, gnaja khachho?, but I strongly believe in the merits of staying under the radar and being unremarkable, except about dogs and cats. That was my day, and I didn't notice any lack.
I don't mind going back to work tomorrow, and doing what I do every work day.
I have no urge for sex or romantic companionship. It's not numbness either. It just doesn't figure. Last summer it did, and I remember it being more colourful. See, if R from work can be companionless despite being so much more kickass and conventionally good-looking, it might mean that it's not about who you are. Maybe there's something more guro at work.
I don't mind going back to work tomorrow, and doing what I do every work day.
I have no urge for sex or romantic companionship. It's not numbness either. It just doesn't figure. Last summer it did, and I remember it being more colourful. See, if R from work can be companionless despite being so much more kickass and conventionally good-looking, it might mean that it's not about who you are. Maybe there's something more guro at work.
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