December means living by deadline. Will I get the tree up, cookies baked, concerts attended, cards out, gifts bought, and love shared by December 25th? It's a race against the clock with the days between now and then a blur.
Carving out writing time is hard enough and triply challenging in jam-packed December. During hectic times, I like to jump-start my creative writing practice with the Present Moment writing prompt to pull me back to today, to notice what is rich and savory about this. Very. Minute.
I dubbed my Present Moment practice from my morning, “The Sounds of Morning,” and it is simply a list of my noticings: The coffee pot being rinsed out and filled anew. ESPN on the TV, turned low. School bus rumbling down the street. Dog barking at random passers-by. Dishwasher opening, cup going in.
I love the practice because of how it makes me stop and notice my now. It helps push me into the flow of abundance and jettison the panic feeling of projecting too far ahead.
Bring your mind to right now. You there yet?
PRACTICE
For fifteen minutes, write about the present moment. What do you feel? Hear? See? Really pay attention to the details of right now and let that flow onto your paper, feeling with it a release of any tension associated with future to-dos and deadlines. As always, take time to comment on and encourage others in their writing!
My feet are *still* cold. The two wall clocks tick in arythmic (sp) counterpoint. My neighbor’s radio blares the “good news”, preachers and singers in tandem. I’m aware of my very own mini-edition of “The Troubles”, to use the old Irish euphamism (sp) and I’ve some Irish in me so I guess I’m entitled. My choices remain my own. The heat comes on, and I am grateful. Enough food. Enough gasoline. Enough is enough, and I’m grateful. So many without power in their homes. Almost time to hit the streets.
I’ll return later to read and encourage others’ work. Gotta go.
Enough is quite blessed, isn’t it?
Yes it is! 🙂
The cold December air fills the room through the open windows. I can feel the chilly air as it touches my bare skin. As I pay attention to the present moment, I can hear myself breathing. I can feel my heart beating. I’m alive, I’m grateful.
Such a good thought! Thanks for sharing.
My cheeks are numb. Families huddle around me, uniformed children chattering about their day, adults sitting weary on the benches. My breath rises like mist in the air. I see the marks of flattened grey gum on the ground. I stare at the yellow line, waiting for the train to arrive.
Nice descriptions. I particularly like the gum on the ground detail.
This was fun to read, going with the flow and wondering where you were taking me and I liked the payoff “waiting for the train to arrive” because I had not guessed it.
Greg is talking to Jen, our sales coordinator, behind me. He rattles his keys. Somewhere to go during lunch. After he leaves, the office is quiet again. Only the tapping of Jen’s keyboard and the constants whoosh of air through the ventilation system to keep me company. On the other side of my wall, I hear the plant. Hourly’s shouting, laughing. Probably Atari. He’s always loud. Great name, too. I asked him if that’s how his father spent his childhood, playing Atari.
A outer door closes downstairs. It’s only a two-story building so we hear everything in our office and the automotive group below us. Poor bastards, their heat has been broken all week, so they’re working in their coats. Naturally, it’s the coldest December we’ve had in Detroit in years.
There goes my heat! The sound of it kicking on–a loud click then a different, higher pitched, rush of air. I appreciate it more, having spent a few minutes downstairs in the deep freeze.
There’s something about fluorescent lights that invoke depression. Seriously, whoever designed them did it for the sole purpose of illumination. There is absolutely no joy in fluorescents. The one above me has a dead spider inside the frosted cover. His little legs have been curled under him for two years. I hope I don’t die inside a light fixture. I’d hate for anyone to have to stare up at me year after year, wondering when the day will come when I spring back to life and enact my revenge on the idiot working below me. Decent burial, please. No light covers.
All offices smell the same. And there is no description. It must be what spider corpses baking under fluorescent lights smells like.
I like my lunch hour (which I stretch to an hour and twenty minutes). I start early, around 7am, so I leave early. Lunch is practically the end of my day. Today, though, I’m cold. I think, once you’re past 40, your body learns a defense against clothing. No matter how many layers I put on, I’m chilled. Even my Columbia fleece jacket (which I call my Mr. Rogers jacket) doesn’t protect me from winter. Could be the bottle of ice-water I keep on my desk doesn’t help. But hey, I haven’t gotten sick in years. I credit the water.
The boss is chatting with the plant manager behind me now, Jen’s keyboard clicking away between us. Everyone talks quieter during lunch. Wonder why that is. Maybe they know some of us are over 40 and may want a nap.
Which doesn’t sound like a bad idea.
Great job, I can really feel the scene. I like the detail about the spider in the light.
“I hope I don’t die inside a light fixture.” I used to gaze at the dead bug in the ceiling light fixture in my kitchen but I never had such intriguing thoughts. Nice work.
I like the dead spider and the over-40 perspective, which I totally get!. Saw my first snow from the backseat of the family car at the age of four approaching your city, Detroit. Snow and tail-lights!
Weird how the spiders never decompose. Such a funny detail we can all relate to.
My body feels dragged down from my eye sockets. There’s a
weight on top of my head that drapes down like a wig, pulling my skin down. The
refrigerator hums. The computer creaks, doing its mysterious thing and making
me wonder if it’s about to go dark. An airplane buzzes up in the sky. The
keyboard clacks as I type. Outside, a car whooshes by on the road that might
still be wet from the storms of the last two days.
I stare and the screen gleams white. More cars drive by,
white noise. Everything seems very still. I’m alone for the first time in five
days.
Everything is centered on my eyes, that feeling of
tiredness, like they’re bigger than usual, tight. I have a headache. I can feel the skin on the
top of my head, down to my forehead.
There’s a feeling of people rushing by in their cars, going
places and doing things, while I sit quietly and listen.
Water drips from the roof, the trees. Chores and responsibilities, to-do lists pile
up around me. They’re heavy, like my head. Thoughts wind down to nothing, a
blank. The fridge rumbles instead of hums then it goes quiet. Sun bright on
snow.
The dog shifts and huffs out a breath, lying on the rug and
napping. He rolls on his side and rubs his ear with his paw.
Whish, go the cars. Click click goes the hard drive. There
are no lights on in the house. Soft daylight spreads in from the windows.
That gave me the almost surreal feeling of having just woken up from a nap, where things still feel dream-like, yet you’re also noticing everything. I think you set up the tension with your first couple of sentences.
Love the dragging down by the eye sockets. I know exactly what you mean. And the creaking of the computer. I never noticed, but they do creak, don’t they?
Good post — I especially like the fragment-sentence: “Sun bright on snow.” Gives a vivid snapshot!
Ice melting from the roofs outside makes the sound of soft rain. In the corner, my father paints, squiting over his spectacles at the artwork. I sip on a smoothie which makes me even colder because unfortunately, eating hot soup and warm burgers all the time isn’t healthy apparently. The low hum of the laptop makes an incessant, yet pleasant drone.
I like “Ice melting from the roofs outside makes the sound of soft rain”. I’ve been hearing the same sound in the last few days!
You share a home with your dad? That feels cozy to me.
I just checked the thermostat. 56. It’s 56 degrees in our house! The heater broke yesterday and we’re waiting for the heating guy (is that what their profession is called?) to arrive.
In the meantime, my legs are bouncing under my desk for warmth. I have the space heater on but, although expensive, it doesn’t seem to blow air more than a few inches. Therefore, I’ve come up with a system that seems to work. I pull my sweats up to my thighs and place my right leg next to the heater. After a couple minutes, I can literally feel the hairs start to burn. The tingle is so uncomfortable, I forget about the cold for awhile as I yank my leg back, panting.
I repeat that process for hours.
Other than that, it’s a pretty typical day. I just heard a clicking across the tiled floor, so the dog will probably want out soon. Every time I open the door and feel the 22 degree air waft inside, I wonder if German Shepherds get cold (I picture him trying to bake in the wilted sun until his fur burns then retreating into a shadow).
That’s the constant in my life: weird musings.
The dogs are out and I’m back at my desk. I’ve just noticed all the lights are off and the brightest thing, by far, in my universe is the computer monitor. I recently increased the brightness and think it may be burning my retinas a little. Eh, at least they’re warm.
On my computer, I have Scrivener open to my first novel. The first chapter still feels too long but I’m not sure exactly what to cut. In the past couple months, I’ve already halved the length (before, it was almost its own novel). But 29 pages still feels like too much.
Staring at the blinding screen, I zone out of this world and enter my novel’s for the millionth time. As that realm gets more vivid, everything around me mutes and grays.
“I can literally feel the hairs start to burn” brought back memories of the old Dearborn space-heaters of my youth, when I did exactly the same thing by backing up to it on the cold mornings!
LOL Awesome 🙂 In my youth, our heater vents were on the floor, so we (the 5 siblings) fought over who got to make blanket tents over them. Good times 🙂
Love the last line.
Thank you! It felt so long, I was desperately thinking of how to quit when that hit me.
The dishwasher hums while it washes the grime. Blessed to have food to dirty those dishes and blessed to not have to wash them by hand. The fan downstairs whirs away as it brings the heat from the wood stove out of the family room to direct it up the stairs. Not the ideal set up, but the wood mess isn’t in sight, and it keeps the house cozy on these sub-zero days. The dog lies at my feet and snores loudly. I really think she has sleep apnea. I tap at the keyboard, once again inspired to write a word or two, heart heavy as I decide to take a break from my blog for a time.
I liked this. I’m curious about the sudden turn from “blessed” and “cozy” to the heavy heart, and also how long the break is going to last.
Not sure how long the break will be….It’s not fun anymore….the writing is, the rest of the stuff isn’t….makes me sad…
Loved the images but wondered about the heavy heart? Is there a hint of what caused it? “Blessed to have food to dirty dishes…” good thought!
Love the writing thing….don’t like the social media thing, it’s making writing not fun.
“Sub-zero days” and I thought it was cold down here in the South! I don’t know wood stoves but my Momma and Daddy sure did! Best wishes for lightening of the heavy heart.
I, too, desire to know the story of the heavy heart.
The December sun shone brilliantly through my windows without its usual visor of leaves on the hickories and oaks. After a week of gloomy rain, the warmth made me smile.
I watched two chickadees float from the feeder to the bird bath ignoring the 44 degree temperature. The heating unit hummed as the grandfather clock ticked in time to a slow drip at the kitchen faucet. A lone truck clanked down the street from its carpet- cleaning mission at the neighbor’s.
As I sneaked the last half cup, my coffee pot beeped the end of its cycle. There were still needles on the floor where we struggled through with the Christmas tree but I decided to ignore them. My iPod played “Christmas in Dixie” and I breathed in the pungent smell of balsam. An old doll with a faded dress made her holiday appearance on the end table. I touched her soft velvet dress with as much delight as a child. Life is good.
Yes, life *is* good. And the child within still feels the same delight!
There is a saying, “There are no ordinary moments. There is always something going on.” I think of this when I read this! Ordinarily full.
Stove pipe creaking, warming up. Fire growing, glowing orange.
Shoulder aching, carrying wood. Fingers flying, shopping online.
Starbucks cooling, too cold to drink. Wishing wishing it was hot.
Son playing, gaming in minecraft world. Nexus clicking, exploding sounds.
Distant humming, spinning laundry. Labrador licking, sighing sleeping.
Bottom sinking, forming into couch. Cheeks flushing, tingling, finally warm.
That’s very poetic — I like it!
Love the cadence here!! You took an ordinary moment and made it into something really beautiful.
The present moment.
I am sitting in Barnes and Noble addressing my write practice. This is the first chance I have had. I refused to read my email until I had time to sit and write. I was dismayed when I read what it was because I would rather write about sitting outside or in a peaceful room in my house. But here I am in Barnes and noble sitting in a striped overstuffed chair with Christmas music floating around adding to sneezing and snatches of conversation.
I am full of their black bean soup and I feel better than I have ay any other point in this day. It is because I have finally eaten and I really needed to eat. The tip of my right middle finger is quite tender from an accident in the chicken coop earlier today. The acupuncture left me in a strange space, helping me with an extreme spacey-ness which has accompanied me all day, and yet in some respects removing me even further from feeling altogether normal. I am vulnerable feeling. Quiet. I want quiet time. Barnes and Noble with the toned down music, comfortable chairs and hot peppermint tea seem to soothe me. It is a respite from my constant driving up and down the road.
A phone rings and then stops. The voice of a man tutoring a young boy reaches me. I sat near them while eating the soup that satisfied my soul and my stomach. A young man of color sits in a chair near me. He was gazing into yonder lands but has now delved back into his book. I see a table of “luxurious throws”, strategy games, Christian books, snowy owls and Game of thrones tables just by gazing straight ahead. An older man, portly wearing a black sports jacket and turtleneck with a sporty beige cap peruses the season’s best history books. The sounds of silence is now playing filling the air with its beauty.
I feel the dread of having to get back out on the road, but at least my stomach is full. At least I have the impossible schedule for the evening worked out so I can go to my meeting and my child can still be picked up from rehearsal. A baby blathers in the distance. A boy asks a girl, “how scary is that?” A woman creeps by on a walker. I peck on my iPad, wondering how to make writing about the mishmash of sounds and people interesting to read about. I am thinking, “this will not be very interesting for others to read. No internal dialogue, just what is. A green carpet, cookbooks, a quiet corner in a busy place being observed by a woman with low energy and limited time. But I do have now. I have fifteen minutes of now before I take off again.
You did a nice job painting this picture, even though you were not loving the topic. Had a chicken coop incident earlier today, myself. Who knew chickens will not walk on snow?
Chickens can’t walk on snow? Really?
I actually like this quite a lot — it has given me a glimpse into your world which is so very different than mine. I think it’s fascinating to know that while I am pouring myself coffee in Minneapolis, you are where you are, seeing what you are seeing.
Thank you so much. Pouring coffee in Minneopolis? Wow. You got a snapshot of Macon, Georgia.
I actually really like this. I like it’s honesty and humanness, but I also find it engaging because all the Barnes & Nobles in my area have been shut down (damn you, Amazon!) and I used to love to go hover around in there right before Christmas, looking for last minute stocking stuffers. It seems like a boring thing, but I miss it.
Your comment gives me pause. I’ve been considering a move to another place. I may find myself with similar longings in the not too distant future. I need to appreciate every mundane thing because it all changes.
In the now.
I hate white noise. I’m not one of those people who needs it, I like my quiet to be quiet. But it’s an old house and I can hear the heater. The heater is fighting with the wind howling it’s way through the daylight sized cracks in our doors. I can hear the refrigerator click and pour water into the ice maker, then the clunking of perfectly formed ice falling into the tray. I can just barely hear my toddler snoring the snore of a boy who played hard in the snow with his dad. It’s too bad he’s in bed, the Christmas lights look spectacular in the dark. The white tinsel is what does it. It creates a prismatic effect and our spindly ten dollar tree looks incredible. The new baby just sighed that way that new babies sigh, all content and warm and pink. I’m taking the sigh as tree approval. The heater clicked off and the fridge is apparently content with it’s ice production for the moment, but I can still hear (feel) the wind.
I really enjoyed this. I actually felt myself sigh in contentment when you said, “The new baby just sighed….”
Interesting that those of us writing from home all notice this white noise hum of machinery. It’s really a constant. And come to think of it, when the power goes out and most of that shuts down, it does sound/feel a lot different. Even during the day when you don’t notice the lights being out.
This was really beautiful.
On the radio 80s pop stars cajole me to ‘Feed the world!’ but right now I am feeding myself a burger with onions and slurping a can of diet Pepsi. I was going to be good today but Becky froze earlier when she put her soup in the microwave. Her hand hovered over the timer and instead of pressing the buttons she exclaimed ‘I want to be bad today.’ So we went to the canteen instead.
Becky has finished her chips and gravy and is now eating an unidentified cake. We think it is a white chocolate caramel shortcake, but even as she is eating it she keeps saying ‘I don’t know what this is.’ It doesn’t stop her though.
Claire finishes work at one so she is still working away as we stuff ourselves. The printer next to my desk whirrs and spits out new letters and labels and Claire has to get up from her desk to collect them. When she comes close, I minimise my writing and pull up my emails so that she doesn’t see. I am on my lunch break, so it is allowed, but I don’t want people to know that I write yet. If it all comes to nothing, I don’t want people knowing that I failed. The printer hums for a few minutes after it has performed each task. It’s so persistent a sound that you don’t really notice it until it stops.
I like this piece. Something about it is so honest that it resonates inside of me. Thank you for sharing.
Posted. I posted my blog this morning. As usual, I check Facebook, blog stats, then Facebook again. Why does it matter so much? The words were a gift. Shared.
Quiet…all is quiet, except for the hum of the washing machine. Morning begins early for me. I love the rhythm and routine of the morning hours. Study, tea, quiet, reading, reflection. Where once there was hustle and bustle of children and school and carpools, now there is an empty nest.
Quiet conversation over cups of tea before the day begins.
This is a lovely piece. It might be speaking to my mood right now. I’ve also spent the day quietly and peacefully.
This was an interesting exercise for me, first because I stress out the most about description, and second because I realized that my piece sounded like a list of choppy little sentences. I went back and combined some to help the flow, but I feel like I’d need some distance from it before I could make any satisfying edits — like not look at it for a few weeks then come back.
*****************************************************
A muffled train horn blasts twice in the distance. It sounds as though it’s blowing through fog, although I know the morning is crystal clear. Inside, the furnace runs with a low, barely perceptible hum. The distant freeway is a light gray streak of whispered sound. Coffee cools quickly in the dimpled white porcelain cup, which sits on a mouse pad beside translucent clouds of ringed water marks on the desk. A white charging cord curls over the marks. Its broad plug rests on my closed black notebook. Now the dog whines softly downstairs. She pleads. I worry that she’s cold.
On the street a car door opens and closes quickly. An engine turns with a metallic scrape. A plank within a stuccoed wall cracks in the cold as the car on the street revs by and disappears into silence. Another car door opens and closes. A child’s voice babbles nearby.
No clock ticks inside. We don’t have ticking clocks anymore, just a couple old clocks sitting frozen, family heirlooms that we’re unable to let go. The child outside babbles again. Another car sweeps by on the street. A father’s voice issues commands that I can’t quite decipher. Downstairs, the dog finally stops whining.
The computer monitor sits motionless atop a stack of two books I wrote years ago (not fiction). Their spines face the wall. On the flat surface of the top book, a tiny, brown glass vial of lavender oil stands next to the monitor’s base. In the corner of my eye, a car backs toward me from the garage across the street, then reverses direction and rolls past the window. I don’t sense the garage door going up or down, but I know it must have. Now more silence, except for that odd background hum of furnace motor and forced air. Everything else is motionless, unreacting.
I loved the word choice in this piece. Though it is a bit choppy, that is really what the prompt inevitably entails, and it’s something that would probably be easily fixed given a few days distance, as you said. But again, perfection can’t be attained on a first try.
I’m tired. There’s this nameless something that keeps me feeling like I’m searching. I think it’s loneliness. This is a good moment–I think. It isn’t always that we get to feel lonely, and really feel it. The texture of loneliness–fragrant and unrelenting like a blanket wrapped around all sides.
The sink is still dripping, and the woodstove encases fire, and there is that sound of heat through metal, the tin tin tintintin of expansion, of dangerous, glorious heat. The world really changes when it’s cold. when there is no possibility of warmth. it’ll get you moving.
the dogs, sprawled out around the fire, are still recovering from their overnight away, where? We don’t know. I’m sad to see them here somehow, though I was worried about them. I thought they were free when they disappeared, and that was somehow better.
it is very still here now. people I think are my friends are sleeping. I know them very well, we’ve lived together for years, but we don’t smile at each other often. We don’t look each other in the eye, and when we do, it’s somehow not memorable. I don’t know what happened. It’s not enmity or ill will, it’s just this distance. It’s sad.
There goes the refrigerator. It’s the lick of the battery powered clock, the drip in the sink, the tin of the woodstove and that low roar of heat, and now the drone of the fridge.
My feet are tingling, as if I’d been on them all day. It’s a lie, but I have just realized, after weeks of sitting where I normally am up all day, your body actually gets sore from sitting all day. Today I tried to bend over and touch my toes, doing a yoga asana, and realized that I could barely touch them. First time in my life that has ever happened.
I’m avoiding the present, because each time I check in, I see that I’m sad. And that I’m lonely, and I want to resist that, because I think I shouldn’t be. I didn’t feel this way yesterday or the day before. Where is this coming from?
Hm someone’s up to pee. She moaned slightly when she opened the door because of the light, and on the way back, she stomps to bed.
And there it is again, and this insistent well of grief or frustration inside of me. It wouldn’t be so bad to feel it, I say. Ok, so come on then. Feelings. it’s in my stomach, I know that much. Ouch, ouch, ouch, approaching my heart. yeah, that’s sadness, and it somehow feels good because it’s real. Sweet, like the pain of a good run. This must have been why I ate dinner when I wasn’t hungry. Part of why I don’t want to feel it is the pain of facing certain shifts, certain needs, certain desires. I could pretend all day that the drip in the faucet is always unchanging, but it strikes me different, and I hold on. There, the drip is back, and it’s not the same drip as it was when I first heard it weeks ago. When i first thought that it would be fun. now it’s a reminder of all the things left unsaid, and unasked for.
I stare at the screen of the iPad, my fingers hover over the keys. A sentence forms in front of me. No. Not good. I delete it, try again. Still, I’m unsatisfied. Finally, I settle on one and begin. My legs ache from this uncomfortable position inside the back seat of the car. Looking over the tablet to my feet, I am suddenly aware of a cold, tingling sensation in my toes. I wriggle them around inside my tight, soft sheep fur boots. Shaking my head, my hair settles around my face. My hand pauses typing for a moment to brush away a strand of hair from my eyes. I lean back against the seat and gaze through the frost covered windows. The cold outside the car seems to mingle with the heat inside. I shiver but embrace the marshmallow feeling. That’s my new term. Marshmallow feeling, when your insides are warm and toasty but there’s a crisp, thin outer layer of cold embedded within your skin. It feels almost like you could slide out of your body, your crust. Just like a marshmallow. I swallow. My ears seem to plug from time to time, like on an airplane. I grow aware of my feet, that wish to escape the confinement of their boots. I pull them out and cross my legs, my right knee pushing into the door. I listen to the loud hum of the air outside, feel the constant bumps and vibrations as we drive over inconsistencies in the road. I look again at the window. We’re on a bridge now. The road seems flies past, just like other cars. I raise my hand up to the window and draw spirals, first with my finger, then with my nail. The nail makes a better spiral. I smile. Again I push my hair out of my face and look back to the screen. It’s odd, this writing about something that happened a second ago. I mean, to write about spirals I had to be looking at the screen. Then, I said I looked back at the screen. Hmm. Interesting. The soft murmur of conversation in the driver and passenger seat meets my ears. I look over at my sparkling blue skis. I’m so excited. Only one hour has passed since we left. But I can’t wait to get back on the mountains for the first time this season. The outside is so fresh and clean. And white. Despite the cold, I love it. Winter is beautiful.
The budgie chatters loudly, then soft. The keys are struck repetitively quick, though my fingers fumble over them in an effort to get the words flowing just right. I’ve been silent all day. Done little. Just felt at peace as the snow falls outside my window. My earlier mood to shop has dwindled into an easy contentment as I’ve let the quiet bled into me all day long. The bird has stopped her chatter, and now the fan is blowing, blowing warm air into my home. There’s just the quiet, the ever constant tapping now of the keyboard as the words form in my mind and are typed out into the silent contentment that is today.
On Saturday evening, my computer crashed during an innocuous attempt to simply send a photograph to my sister-in-law. There’s not much I can do on a Saturday night, so I waited to try again on Sunday after a giant storm left us under a foot of snow. On Monday, my computer was sent to the repair shop at the Apple Store and was back in my possession Monday night (much sooner than I expected since they told me it’d be until Wednesday).
My point in writing that is that I knew what writing did in my life. It grounded me, gave me a purpose, helped my figure out why I feel the way I do. I’ve tried to articulate these emotions many times, but to slim success. Writing is cathartic, writing is personal. Sometimes it’s effect is incommunicable. I was without an avenue for writing for, in total, 38 hours. I felt a pulse of anxiety throbbing. Is this when I was going to get that great spark of inspiration?
I sit in front of a revamped computer, listening to the welcomed sounds of my computer busying itself with healthy updates and adjustments to a new life. The candle flickers to the left of my periphery. I can hear the dog downstairs playing with a new bone, the heating system popping and clinking to get the heat from the basement to my feet. There are two houses on my street including mine. The other family left for the holidays and there is complete silence outside.
It’s warm in the house, I’m dressed in long pants and a t-shirt, slippers on my feet. We’re expecting another half a foot of snow tonight, which sets my anxiety alert higher than normal. We don’t own a snowblower, my back still aches from shoveling the last storm. Outside, the weather is in the single digits. We’re blessed to be without wind today.
its 11:22am on a Tuesday morning. it’s 17th December 2013. I have Anoushka Shankar’s Traces of Me playing on the laptop that i am writing on. The weather is slightly cool. The fan is on the lowest speed. Windows are shut but i can hear some construction work happening outside in my colony. There is an elevator who has conked off just outside my main door and so the beethoven music keeps on playing.
Am wearing my pajamas and feeling too lazy to get up and go for work. I am feeling slightly hungry but though the lunch today is not all that exciting.