Dear blog, (sorry old-school diaries, every time I grip a pen in terror, I would forget what to write in the first place, so yeah sorry that I favour this over you - that doesn't cease me to purchasing you for no obvious purpose though)
This space was meant to be my everyday, mundane kind of journal for stuff you won't bother listening from a very, very (uh) emotionally-intolerable friend you sit next to. But I promise through words, you will get not only learn who I am, but also equally enjoy funny things we tend to normally ignore.
Eyeing a blaring computer screen with tormenting starvation, I attempted to shush away my eating-binge thoughts and sharing something with you instead. A piece of mind, wit, humour - whatever you name it.
Today I went to library and guess what? Armed with my overdue books, I timidly blushed as the librarian announced out loud how much I owe the State Lib. 'Seriously, is that a felony?' I almost blurted out as she checked my record, like some kind of criminal record screening.
"In fact it is. According to State Library Enactment 1988, the library is authorised to fine readers a maximum of RM300.00 for the such offence" she purposely flicked the front notice glued on a book's preface back.
Pursuing my lips, I heaved burdened sigh as my fingers rummaged through the Esprit bag. Fifty cents, came three red notes swirled onto the front desk. Leaving the matter settled, I grimaced at the fact that the library now owes me a bloody good thirty-something ringgit.
After swivelled around (like a lost idiot) shelves and shelves of worn-out books, I walked out content and gaily wrapped three fictional novels underneath my arms: The Jane Austen Book Club, Things I Wish I'd Known and (my fave!!! newly-found fave writer) Marian Keyes' Under the Duvet. She's one funny, aspiring and inspiring writer that tells things as they are without much sugar-coating.
Uh, without a functional relationship with any man, this book-lending affair is certainly a bipolar, love-hate type. Without much condescending though, I managed to cheered myself up with Caramel Latte down the floors.
C'est la vie.
After swivelled around (like a lost idiot) shelves and shelves of worn-out books, I walked out content and gaily wrapped three fictional novels underneath my arms: The Jane Austen Book Club, Things I Wish I'd Known and (my fave!!! newly-found fave writer) Marian Keyes' Under the Duvet. She's one funny, aspiring and inspiring writer that tells things as they are without much sugar-coating.
Uh, without a functional relationship with any man, this book-lending affair is certainly a bipolar, love-hate type. Without much condescending though, I managed to cheered myself up with Caramel Latte down the floors.
C'est la vie.
