Sloth

A whole day more almost gone and I've still done nothing. I suppose I can safely say that it's not my fault..came home at 11 a.m., freshened up and ate and left again by 2. My mom needed to look at sofas. Went all the way to Vikhroli and turns out I like the stuff in Thane better. Though it was a pretty cool store, even if their in-house restaurant serves the worst excuse for cheese sauce that I've ever seen. And I got a new wallet :) It's really pretty cool, made of orange, yellow and brown striped mat with a bit of black leather. This happens to be the first ever wallet I've picked out for myself in my whole life. Strange, eh? But I suppose I just never cared for wallets and stuff. So I kept taking my sister's old ones and they were always pretty nice so I never felt the need to get one of my own. 
And you could have lived your whole life without knowing that. 

It's depressing a little, Zonk. To come home at 8 in the night and realize how little you have to show for the whole day.  And sometimes, for your whole life. But we're not there yet. We will be. When we're 40 and wishing for a way out. I'd known before I left home today that I wouldn't work on anything at all. It's just that kind of a day..a post-party no-nap day. And I'd decided to spend the evening watching Penn and Teller's 'Bullshit'. But that plan's lost it's lustre. I doubt I'll be able to have fun watching stuff unless I really get my act together and Work hard. It's hard enough to feel like the Universe would notice if you went missing when you're sitting home and being jobless. Why on earth wouldn't I work on what little I have to do? Sloth. Ah such a deadly deadly sin it is..
Bye bye Zonk. Beware the Ides of August. That last sentence is terribly inaccurate in several ways, I know. Bleh.  

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Author: Kirtana K

I paint and make music and blog like a maniac. These days I try to run. But I have chicken legs and lungs the size of two-rupee balloons. I fail. I like pajamas and striped socks and books that read like song and songs that sound like poetry and strangers who read this page. And Maggi when I'm sick or cold or sad or celebrating. They'll find noodles in my veins if ever they cut me open. And potatoes. And maybe a tiny bit of whiskey. I'll be an Unidentified Living Object and they'll put my insides on display. It will be crazy. It will be awesome. It will.

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