trying hard to work
I have been staring at someone’s email for the hundredth time but my brain refused to process the information it contained. Maybe it didn’t contain any but my logical self tells me that if it’s a mail from this certain person then it should say something, something IMPORTANT.
I have come to think that aliens got hold of my ability to comprehend written texts. Maybe I’ll start speaking in Swahili soon.
It is the quality of the day that makes it just so unfit to work. The temperature has started to climb and you could see people in tanks and flip-flops and those tourists that make me wonder why on earth have I not exploited the city’s beauty before this bastards beat me to it. Add to the whole melee of sensory stimulation those poignant memories of young adulthood. Ah sweet life! Why am I here letting my very life pass me by?
The ride to work was not so eventful. My husband was complaining about work in general – stupid this, stupid that, blah-blah-blah while the cabbie tried to avoid all hurtling vehicles. As usual I was off somewhere with my own thoughts. When I dropped Jude off, he told me: “Try to enjoy your day.” Which come to think of, is really what I should do – live this moment and try to find some sense out of all these madness.