In an effort to stop myself from performing a Nigella-esque night-time raid on my fridge (which at the moment is stocked with rice, tomato and bagoong, perfect comfort food triumvirate!), I have switched on my lappy and am tiptapping on my keyboard instead of preparing a bowl of rice and tomato salad with bagoong.
Bagoong is basically fermented shrimp paste that has been sauteed.
I am tired and wide-awake at the same time. If you could see me now: I’m sitting near the edge of my bed, near the window, with legs crossed under the duvet. I don’t think I feel well. I’m not too certain that I’m ill (I don’t have a fever, low-grade or otherwise, but not having a fever has never stopped a hypochondriac from worrying). My eyes are squinting against the weird non-bright light from my laptop screen. I wonder if I should take a paracetamol or an ibuprofen tablet, just in case?
I spoke to one of my dearest friends, Che, today. She’s in Ireland on business. I hadn’t properly spoken to her in nearly 2 years so being able to laugh with her was a giddy comfort. I’m in England and she’s in Ireland. How’s that for a so-near-yet-so-far situation. We’re in the same bloody time zone!
I think I might just switch the lappy off as verbal diarrhea gets worse when one gets sleepier and I think tapping away has achieved its purpose, to make me sleepy. Although I don’t think that was the plan originally. I think I wanted to write about reading Her Fearful Symmetry, which I haven’t finished yet and how the book I’m reading affects the way I write.
Maybe that’s why I haven’t written that novel which is supposed to make me a millionaire? I haven’t found a personal writing style yet. I haven’t found the voice with which to tell my story…
Right. I’m beginning to sound fanciful…time to publish this blog, do a bit of self-promotion on Twitter about this (idiotic) entry and drift off to the Land of Nod.