sibilance

can hear my hissing sounds. can hear my heart beating. was supposed to go shopping with car's. both of us fell asleep. no worries. let her bake the cake for her friend's birthday.

speaking of friends, was able to retrieve my shoulder bag from Honey, who had the good graces to collect it from John Lewis in Kingston. forgot my bag in the cafeteria at nearly closing time a day before my birthday in June, a day after Honey's birthday. she rang the establishment and picked it up because i don't live near the area. the contents were just reading matters for that day's train travel, for good grief  i'll just stare at the scenery the full half an hour. it took me four months to claim the bag including Honey and Roy's birthday present for me.

my Virginia Woolf book ( a room of one's own) was in the bag. i was halfway through the paperback, a few hundred pages of her chastising her era of women needing a room of one's own in order to write. i've scanned through easy two non-fiction since then, autobiographical accounts and essays, which not too-severely deflated my self-esteem. i have to polish my verbal skills.

then there's the drumbeats of primark, which a label-whore golden baldie frowns upon as if he's selected the best shags ever or wears prada all the time. boy bawang kicks ass, man.