Before I lay me down to sleep

It's bad to nurse a lousy mood for the whole day only to throw it all in a temper, at the children. We both did exactly that this evening, and I think the reason we're turning in early tonight is so the dark fuming clouds will disappear with the morning sun. Hopefully.

There's so much on my mind, organisational in nature. Been brooding over what needs to be done in the next two days. Expectations, expectations, no one else's but mine.

I am thankful that the last time I worried about money was months ago. So! This is what it feels like to have that burden off-loaded. It feels good, yet there's also the hovering fear of overspending.

Made teriyaki beef burgers for dinner. The twist was eating them with wholemeal bread slices instead of burger buns. I enjoyed mine with oozles of honey mustard, alongside garlic-pepper baked fries and corn nibblets sans anything.

My headache ensues.

A stirring of accomplishment

Have been out the past two days temping at a bank. What a world of corporate vultures and culture! Not only was the office air constantly filled with accented niceties (both sincere and pretentious), I found it hard to concentrate with noisy people walking all over the place, all the time, speaking a jargon I did not comprehend. Despite that inconvenience, I completed my task half a day earlier, which translates to less wages, however.

The book I nibbled on last week? Gobbled it all.

And the final battle for this week - my house! All it took was two days of my absence for a thin layer of fine dust to settle on the floors, newly washed laundry to pile up on my favourite couch, and a cake-high stack of mail needing attention, soon.

I'm thinking of going on a wardrobe-clearing rampage. There's quite a nice style going around this season that I'd like to make space for.

I realise

Increasingly over the years, I've gotten needy. For friendship, for affirmation. There are always plans plans plans in my head. None on my hands. Laziness has crept its sneaky way into my bones. I'm losing touch with Industrious, Efficient and Positive. I need Jesus. He holds my life. In Him I live and move and breathe.

Just then

Since the time I've been told that my articles (first professional ones) have been approved and submitted for publishing, there's been a new found courage in me to write. Writing is something I never presumed that I did well, although some folks around me believed otherwise. I've always tried to avoid writing, whether paid or unpaid. The only writing I do is for the fun of keeping this blog, and even then, I'm probably quite uninteresting with it!

The same afternoon that the client rang me, I happily went out and got myself a new fiction. Three days later, I attempted to compose a few snippets of one of the more acute experiences I had. And a day after that, I found myself boldly applying for a freelance sub-editing position, with a rather miserable-looking resumé in attachment.

There comes a certain release with this change of tide, albeit small. I know my confidence will fluctuate, but I'm taking my chances.

At the bookstore downtown

The cookery section had a smell. The smell of cuisines uncovered, steeping in a pot of daydreams, waiting to be savoured. The air along the aisles was drenched with wafts of "Try me" and "Use this". As she lingered and fingered the spines, her stomach knotted. Hastily, she reminded herself that her day would soon come.

- -- - -- -

Locked in embrace, a boy and girl floated groundward on their cloud of nine. Quite clearly, they were on a pleasant date, and quite likely, they were just a few months into their relationship. The girl was pretty, her long, gentle curls held up in a hair-tie. The boy, neatly dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and jeans, held her at the waist and looked admiringly into her face. Over a private conversation, she laughed and he drew her closer to him, taking a whiff of his lover's hair. It must have smelled nice.

Another boy, bespectacled and coiffed in short, light-brown spikes stood two steps above them on the escalator. He looked on intently, and wondered if he will ever one day hold someone so dear, so close, so beautiful in his eyes.

- -- - -- -

On a bench, two women sat with their backs facing each other. One a slender Muslim lady in her traditional headscarf, and the other a young, Chinese mother of three. Although they came from different homes, cultures and backgrounds, they both held in their hands a similar-titled book - the seventh and newest work by that 30-year old, lispy London chef. His fame, their familiarity.

- -- - -- -

Coming out to town on her off-day, she revelled in her temporary freedom. Inside the bookstore lay a trove of imagination and inspiration. Places to see, foods to eat, arts to appreciate, worlds to live in, languages to master ... and a double life to lead.

In her own marriage home, she was mother first, housekeeper second, and wife and companion on occasion. Getting herself lost in a large bookstore allowed her hopes and dreams to dance out to life. She took on, depending on her moods, the character of a free-spirited single, successful and rich, no less; Or an enthusiastic young bride, husband-focused, appearance-conscious. In those capacities, she would decide if she wanted to be a sexy chef, a photography enthusiast, a multilinguist or a budding interior decorator for the day.

With her head lifted high and her chest rising with confidence, she drank in, from the pages of magazines, recipes, home ideas and conversational French, the life that she dreamed about. If she was not careful, a jolt of reality would send her sputtering back into place. Her heart torn by pangs of longing as she was reminded of her current situation - her lifelong commitment to her family following an insignificant career, and a lacklustre pursuit of her hobbies due to, most frustratingly, little time to herself, little skill, little spending money.

Returning each book to its proper place, her lips turning a wry but hopeful smile, she chanted to herself softly, "Not now. It is not yet time."

My newest find

I just picked up reading fiction, or at least, I decided to try starting on a book and actually finishing it. So it had to be something that I could follow, something with a relevant plot in a modern-day setting, and it had to make me eager to get back to it. My hour at Borders, of scouring the shelves, synopsis-reading and first-page testing, paid off.

Thus far at chapter three, the main characters have been introduced and placed in context. I love how Trollope links every mention of them through overlapping scenes. Edie, whom I absolutely have a connection with, is pining the absence of her youngest son who recently left home to live with his girlfriend. Barely a few paragraphs into the chapter, and it feels like I know her, deeply inside my bones.

I have a reckoning this book will not only be an entertaining read, but a soul-searching journey for me as well.

Earth, wind and fire

I refuse to write a post about the haze. It's depressing enough just looking out my full-length window.

For the record, all my windows and louvres are shut, and the air-conditioning turned on. We're not taking any chances with our little ones.

This just blew me away

Design*Sponge

It amazes me what some people can dream up, even of the simplest things. I totally love green.

Wall work

Our walls are getting repainted. Five years on, time for a change of scenery. Having started out in the then-popular 'Minimalist' fashion, we're now looking at something darker, less oriental. 'Bohemian' maybe, cosy definitely. Due to a lack of funds for new furniture, our hyacinth couch set and mahagony dining set will stay. Gladly, because I still love them.

There's our bedroom, which has, over the years, finally become the sanctuary that it should be. Contrary to what people think, our bedroom was never private to us until six months ago. Our two children slept in the adjoining study, and the small white couch became our older boy's favourite sleeping place. I'm thinking pink and purple hues for our walls and curtains, something romantic yet potentially wild. Mmm.

The study/studio's become quite an eyesore since the arrival of two huge speakers and a stage piano. Hopefully, an artsy-fartsy feel can be achieved with blacks, greys and some touched-up photographs. This will either clean up the look, or just allow the mess to blend in. My husband's creativity thrives on chaos whereas my efficiency takes off when everything is clean and bare. So I guess only one of us will be inspired when we muck around in this little nook.

The boys' room needs a dash of excitement. An electric blue or purple and a shocking orange perhaps. A rocketship, a race car or more fiery dragons should complete the space.

After the paintwork's done, we can put up pictures, wall mirrors and the IKEA shelves that will hold my cookbooks, cds and photos. It should provide the table some relief of the clutter.

I certainly hope the husband doesn't quell my excitement with his procrastination. We've been talking about this for weeks.

Brand new start

There is something about me that is always in want of freshness. In the past three years, I've created countless blogs, and have since deleted or archived all, except two. I get dissatisfied with my writings, and would rather erase them from public viewing than look like an embarrassing try-hard. Blogger's done great with Blogger Beta. I don't have to be a techie to modify my blog settings. Been inspired by some neat amateur pics. I should get some practice myself.

My mantra for this series - Conceptualise. Minimise.