quietly sad.
sadness that is useless - no real outlet, no real trigger (who am i kidding, look at the date), a low level fuzzy thin blanket sadness.
im going to wear socks and drink tea. is this life. be sad. be adult, wear warm socks. drink tea. do laundry.
i could cry.
That song from a decade ago in Singapore is on my mind as I sit now in KL.
Its time for some music, a little cruising on the yellow couch (not orange but then, that particularly dated colour fetish has passed), and daze-looking at the Petronas Towers.
A view to die for.
A song thats just universal enough - it could be English, it could be Portuguese, it could be Bahasa, or Nigerian, or Punjabi. Is there anything better? Peace, quiet, bigsmol and DH out on an errand, me, my fantasy book (Leigh Bardugo, Ninth House) and my germs sit and rest. Listen.
And watch the clouds go by and feel happy.
Happy, right?
I am the largest size I have ever been and if this holiday is not an exercise in practiced self love and affirmation, I don't know what is. Fat and fabulous? Nope. Just fabulous.
