For reasons unknown, this week has seemed rather long-drawn and arduous. A lack of a solid 8-hour sleep session hasn't helped either. It now appears that Sunday will be the only day where I sleep-in late.
Until CSI starts, that is. Which is at 2pm.
Saturday's going to be a long day, I anticipate, one which will start early in the morning. The good thing is I have an Earth Hour event scheduled for the evening, and probably an excursion to Savanh Kiara later in the night.
And still the rains falls. Dark clouds in the evening tend to sap my enthusiasm and energy for the night, without fail. It's a given, the raindrops herald traffic jams, drowsiness, lengthy delays and cancelled outdoor activities. I always say, the best place to be during the rain is on the bed. The pouring shower and whistling wind provide a certain soothing lullaby which more often than not sends me to Dreamland within minutes. The occasional thunder serves nothing more than a bearable interruption to the howling orchestra as sleep slowly embraces the mind.
Back to earth, Private Tom.
Yet another week has approached its nadir, and I've not made any headway in the Battle of the Bulge. Ran into a landmine in the guise of a plate of chicken rice this afternoon, and compounded my consternation with an extra bowl of rice. That was really unnecessary, the extra bowl. And with the weekend just mere hours away, I don't foresee strict abstinence from fattening food. In fact, I predict liberties will be taken with what drops down my oesophagus. All which are making me rather irritated with my lack of discipline. I really should stop the occasional indulgences; the occasions seems to occur every once in two days. Eesshh.
Maybe I'll make a change tomorrow, and restrict gastronomic intake to spartan fare. That's my resolution, for now. My resolve has been known to be quite flexible, to say the least.
And by the way, don't forget to turn off your lights tomorrow. No cheating now.
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