July afternoon

It is a rainy July afternoon. Maybe this is the reason why tiny tiny non-biting ants are creating highways on top my computer table, too near the computer I am currently working on for comfort. They are probably creating new communities underneath the the table or maybe they have taken shack underneath the books and folders and CDs and what-nots stacked haphazardly on the shelf next to the computer table. Or maybe they are trying to get to the half-eaten bar of dark chocolate I have stashed inside my bag. Either way, I don't really care for the comings and goings of these ants. It is a rainy July afternoon.

I miss P. I realized how mundane I have become: I want to experience all months of the year with P, including a gray July afternoon when crickets are annoyingly noisy. See?

The other day, a very good friend asked me: What's a good way to die? I was stumped for a moment. Then I replied: I haven't been thinking of dying lately. It is true. I have been too happy. Too contented. Too much warm-feelings-inside, in fact it is making me suspicious: Is this some sort of a malicious set-up to make me feel secure and complacent only to have this happiness cut short, literally? But enough with the morbid thoughts, I tell myself.