I don't write a good blog. In fact I don't write at all, I scribbled thoughts, rants and raves and just about anything.
I don't have good command over written English to be able to come up with one figuratively and technically perfect composition that I call myself someone who can write.
Seated facing a Christmas tree at breakfast in a cafe, I'm feeling so frisky (not the horny frisky) there's no more rush hour bogged down at work and as much as I've got plenty of time to myself to take pleasure in now and it's already December the last month of the year 2008!
I don't have perfect vocabs and most of the time I'm stuck with vocab limitations. Avowing it on one or two of my post entries, a snooty guy I met on the chatterbox haughtily commented it was not vocab limitations when I simply can't find a perfect word to describe something to complete a sentence about to write but correlated to intelligence. Supposition, that it correlated to intelligence based on the size of grey matter areas of brain!
It took me the most 30 long mins to scribe a post entry each time and came back the next day to check it through, I'm still at times adapted to student life's old habit of last minute rush to go through all checks.
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Where was I? Until the grey had so taken over.
My hand grasped a book I took a minute ago of a bookshelf at the prominent location in the front of the store. I turned it to the back cover reading the book preview of Dorothy Koomson's 'goodnight beautiful'. It's a well written 'a fantastic blend of love, friendship and laughs' easy-to-read book I thought I might need one bedtime reading as I've done with my previous book couple of weeks ago.
My heart whispers, 'the only way to stop it, to stop the slow, agonising suffocation, was to leave. To walk through the door marked 'exit', knowing gratefully that there was no way back.'
It was the end. (from the book)
My hand grasped a book I took a minute ago of a bookshelf at the prominent location in the front of the store. I turned it to the back cover reading the book preview of Dorothy Koomson's 'goodnight beautiful'. It's a well written 'a fantastic blend of love, friendship and laughs' easy-to-read book I thought I might need one bedtime reading as I've done with my previous book couple of weeks ago.
My heart whispers, 'the only way to stop it, to stop the slow, agonising suffocation, was to leave. To walk through the door marked 'exit', knowing gratefully that there was no way back.'
It was the end. (from the book)
Seated facing a Christmas tree at breakfast in a cafe, I'm feeling so frisky (not the horny frisky) there's no more rush hour bogged down at work and as much as I've got plenty of time to myself to take pleasure in now and it's already December the last month of the year 2008!
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