Further proof that I am obsessive-compulsive:
I feel nauseous right now because I have to take a certain pill every night and the very thought of taking the pill makes me feel like hurling my dinner - more so than actually taking the pill itself, because it is so small. That is so easy. I know it is not a problem. But I feel like puking all the same. Like something is stuck your throat, powdery and pilly-shaped. Like a mini-Smartie without the chocolate.
Ewwww. And it haunts me on a daily basis. I think of my mum's famous wantan soup instead. Sometimes it helps.
I have to edit my poetry compilation again, and I'm SICK OF IT. The more I look it, the more cloyingly self-centred it becomes and it grows until I am trapped inside my own life-sized soapbox!!!
So I'm reading the papers again but still can't stomach Newsweek. My brain is too underdeveloped as yet - yeah, shameful. Don't have to remind me. The bricks I throw at my glass bubble are still as feeble as sponge.
Started Maths tuition (Econs begins next week), bought a new unnecessary journal from Kino, went for lunch with my mum and bought slippers and the very Disney-ish but still sniff-worthy Tuck Everlasting VCD, failed to get tickets to Bandfest, bye bye Mr. Loh. Hello load of belated GP holiday homework from a decidedly UN-slack new GP tutor.
Listening to my sister play Christmas carols on the piano, I recall the ones I'm supposed to be practising for sectionals. Much to Hannah' s frustration, I think it will be a bit of time before I remember all the members of the new Guitar 3. Guess what! I still possess the ability to get lost in Botanic Gardens, which I live across the road from.
Prescription: Strawberry pound cake and the night sky.