follyingleaves dot blogspot dot com

Money spent: 53 pounds. Distance run: 2.6 miles. Words written: 4,169 (am v v v tired, and still not finished!). Currently reading: Neither Here Nor There (Bill Bryson).

Scene from room in Singapore

Got up little while ago. Am blogging in bed. My room is darkened. Sunlight peeks through the slats of my blinds, and my air purifier whirs in the background. I imagine it to be a whirring ceiling fan. If we weren't in London, 2007, on a Sunday morning, this could almost be a scene in The Lover. I feel like I should read my Bible before blogging, and have an urge to continue writing that darn chapter. Both make me feel mildly bad. But, it's Sunday. Eszet just texted me: Want to have lunch at my place today? Have foie gras and lots of dessert wine. The Boy also called, just to say he loves me (aww...). But there's something paralysing about my cocoon bed, the still dead silence, the wilting roses on a table, the strewn of clothing on the floor like after a forbidden night. I've been so busy, and tired, and stressed trying to suppress all my emotions and that tiny, irrational, mosquito feeling of guilt.

Suddenly, just being still is very good indeed.