Temp.

Saturday.


It's the day I'm either recuperating from a Friday night, or the day for intense travelling.


It's neither today. A simple lunch and a cuppa (old town white coffee of course) has kept my stomach content with lounging at home, reading this book I'm going to discuss with some strangers later in the evening. I've never joined a wine and book club meeting, ever. This, I predict, is going to be the epitome of awkwardness, for me at least. 
A few minutes ago, clear sweeping sounds reached my ears as I was engrossed in the novel. Jumping back into the hot summer afternoon, I turned around to find my door ajar, and the cleaning lady smiling at me. from the corridor. How the heck did I forget to close my door? 


To tell you the truth, being back here in my tiny flat unit feels different this time around. I'm not disgusted anymore with the plastic wood-patterned flooring that layers over what is probably a simple concrete finish. Neither am I bothered with the white wallpaper that's sprawling with pink/red inked flora, although... I can't say for sure that they've ever aroused disdain on my part. Perception is a strange force, in that a different external opinion may so easily skew your own. Perhaps this only applies to the weak-minded? 


but I digress..


The room that was only a month ago a dreaded dungeon, looks now to be more inviting. 
At some point, yours truly must have figured that this isn't temporary. 6 months isn't temporary. What I've been treating as a "stop-over" has now transformed. 


From this, it remains a mystery as to how preposterous my idea- that I can keep something under the "temporary" umbrella for a year- was. 




"When life gives you lemons...." you don't go on and keep them until they rot, do you?