That describes me quite well, now that I'm on Day 5 1/2 of my flu. To compensate for my seeming listlessness, here's a list. I know, no connection whatsoever. Isn't English a beautiful language?
- If nothing else, the benefits of having a bad cold and cough are: being able to sleep all day on a weekday and not feeling guilty; knowing who really cares for me; exploiting the healing properties of ice-cream; being able to eat the Thai fried rice at Section 17 that has eluded me for months because whenever I get there after work, they're already sold out; doing nothing and feeling good about it.
- One of my fish died this morning. "And then there was one." Requiescat in pace.
- I am sick, sick, sick of the bad English I see in local "English"-language papers. Also sick of being told, "Give [the writers and editors] a break, they're only human." In my book, if you're being paid to do something, you'd better be good at it. Ever told a doctor, "It's ok if you're not that sure how the human body works, you're only human"? I believe in grace as much as anyone. I'm continually on the receiving end of it myself. But I still say, at least look as if you're trying.
- It's true, you can never go home. Or back to your old Latin dance class, wishing it were just as it was five years ago. I don't know which has changed the most: the studio, the class or myself.
- I am simultaneously reading two biographies (well, Fashion Babylon IS more or less biographical) and I can't help marvelling at how strikingly different people can be. From the guy who gained what he cannot lose to the countless people who seem to be tossing away all their life and energy for what they can't keep. Why?