So many projects…so little time

I’m the sort of person, who rarely gets bored. When I say I’m bored, it’s either because I’m procrastinating or it’s because I’ve been forbidden from doing things I like to do.

Which makes being ill one of the most irritating things that could happen to me.

I’m a horrible, horrible sick person. I’m the kind that whines and moans that I’m in pain, I’m in pain and when I’m just a patch better, I start doing things and over-exerting myself to the point that I’m back to being ill. Usually my loved ones force me to sit in front of the telly, a habit that I don’t actually have. Despite my waxing lyrical for Doctor Who and my knowledge of TV shows, I rarely watch telly: a little bit of Wimbledon in between work, a little bit of Bones in between cooking and a little bit of CSI in between sleeping. Only Doctor Who gets my full attention and that’s only because it’s 42 minutes long with 13 episodes a year. And it covers all genres, so it’s like efficient tv.

I’m ill again, this time round as a result of the haze and a case of pineapples. I’m severely allergic to pineapples, it triggers a bad asthma attack. I ate a bowl of assam laksa with soaked fresh pineapples recently think I’d be a-okay, I mean they’re only slivers of pineapples these cheap bastards, but well, come Thursday morning, I had to be rushed to a clinic and was put on a course of steroids and the nebulizer immediately.

Bed rest for two days with the sensation of a strong hand gripping and squeezing my lungs.

But now, I’m up and about, well, as up and about as my lungs would let me. I’m still wheezing and coughing and I can’t stay up too long, but dang it, I’m itchy to get some work done. And in between tripping in and out of consciousness, and feeling awfully sorry for myself, my brain has come up with a gazillion little projects for me to try out. It revolves around baking my own pizza dough, experimenting on fusion foods, creating a farewell present for a dear friend, work, work, work and of course the novel.

Which saying it’s a novel is a funny thing because it’s not been published. So attempted novel? My novel? Stuff I’ve written for my own sordid pleasure? No sex please, I’m Malaysian. And they might just arrest you one of these days. Fanfic writers…they ARE watching you.


So many things to do, so little time.

I just need to learn to concentrate and focus sometimes. And you know, maybe just learn to relax and get better first.


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