Ice cream and Shoes

I want to write about something, but I can’t find that something.

I have a lot of things to write really, but not now. There is a time to write about those things. Maybe I can write them 6 months from now. Or maybe not. By that time it will no longer matter.

I still have a short story to finish. I’m almost done. But I’m scared of how it would come about.

I keep checking my e-mail, hoping that something interesting would come up. The most interesting mail I got was about a meeting next week with one of my favourite professors. That was it.

Maybe I should just eat ice cream, but as it happens, I already have fulfilled my ice cream quota for the day.

Maybe I should just buy shoes. That always worked for me in Manila. The higher, the better. It would hurt so much I will never get to wear it. Walking in heels in Singapore is akin to suicide.

I should go back to working on my presentation for Monday, but the topic is depressing—about people who pretend to peacefully co-exist but, behind that facade, there is potent rage brimming, the kind of sheer anger that would destroy their society.

Emo. That’s what my brother calls this. I can’t believe I’m doing and feeling it now.

PMS, that's how my girlfriends would label it. Hormones.

That’s it. I’m going to buy a pair of shoes from Charles and Keith. Saturday. I promise.