It’s only a Tuesday.
I’m at my desk wishing I could go home and just sleep. I’d love to just go home, climb into bed, pull the covers around me and just read my book. I’m nearly halfway through The Boleyn Inheritance by Philippa Gregory. I’ve read it before, but when I read it, it was rushed and I couldn’t enjoy the nuances of the story. God bless the Kindle, because otherwise, the book would’ve been relegated to my bedside table and I wouldn’t be able to read the book during the trip to work.
I’m in serious need of a boost, of energy, inspiration and inclination. I’m fighting a losing battle against inertia. I wonder if Sir Isaac Newton knew that his law wasn’t just applicable to physics but to psychology as well? Sorry. Mind is off to wander all over. Hence the verbal diarrhea.
I hate this feeling. Someone light a firecracker under my seat, s’il vous plait?
Hmmmm. I’ve just realised that if someone tries to psychoanalyse my blog entry, they’ll probably come up with the diagnosis that I’m depressive! Argh!