Well, it's another slow day at the workplace, and I've finished Antoine de Saint-Exupery's The Little Prince. I'm sure there are so many busy work projects I could be pursuing and yet I find myself sitting idly at the computer (after so many games of free cell) and chatting with my best friend who herself is enduring a slow day at her workplace. Really, I should be in the library, finishing up the electronic catalog, but spending time alone among the dusty stacks sends my brain toward a certain someone currently away on holiday. Not that my brain isn't there already.
See, I have this overactive imagination that so often veers towards earthly things rather than things above, and more than likely, it's thinking of a boy. (This is not always true, but it mostly is, at least when I have a boy on whom to fixate.) This tendency is neither constructive nor healthy nor does it actually lead to decent narratives of a publishable nature. Things tend to wrap up entirely too quickly and neatly and happily to make for anything really worth reading. They do, however, help to pass the time, which is why I am typing here rather than indulging in another time-wasting fantasy. Unfortunately, I have run out of words and thus must suspend further musings to a later time.
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