Absolutely self-centered. Do not proceed if April 27th in the life of Tololy does not interest you.

I am munching on my lunch which is composed of three pieces of pastry and a slim can of coke, the other one is sprite but it can wait, no veggies today.

The long, long week at the office has finally come to an end. We had a gigantic meeting featuring all sorts of important people, local and imported, doing all sorts of important things and composing bibles while they’re at it. I am thrilled it is over, and quite surprised it was not as wholesome as I had expected it to be.

But the 9cm heels did not allow me my sip of victory. I am fully consumed, I walked and walked and walked for what seemed like eternity from this place to that and with each step I regretted not having my tennis shoes on. But that was out of the question really, they don’t go with my posh formal wear. Alas!

Just when I was heading to get lunch from a nearby bakery, my legs were unable to carry on. I walked funny, a bit too much to the left this step, and another too much to the right. I noticed this because people noticed it too, they stared at me, and that was not comfortable. I keep telling myself I should get rid of the little black pair but I never do. I will do that when summer is officially in town.

Then one of my left hand nails chipped, and I hate it when that happens. It’s fantastic but I wanted to paint them all week long and never managed to recycle my time enough to indulge in that precious pleasure, now one of my nails chipped, and I peeled it out. The remaining nine will have to go as well.

And I have been taking care not to bite the middle finger of my right hand, it had gotten severely damaged because of the sharpness of my teeth and the thing I have for even skin. You see, I do not like uneven skin when passed on my lips so I peel it off. Uh, the gruesome details! Well, my finger looks horrible now. I must’ve been pretty stressed out to have skinned it like this, and I feel bad about that. I am on the look for a band-aid and I assure you all that my finger will be fixed very soon.

And you think you have your long weekend planned and that nothing can ruin it, but you discover that in your official inbox there is an email message relaying a fat chunck of work to be wrapped up particularly in this time. But you sigh, and you know you will squeeze it in. (key: you = me).

You know, it’s amusing what I felt today and what I always feel when in such official gatherings. I feel I am willingly indulging myself in a role tailored to fit someone, I don’t know, older, perhaps? Someone who looks like “it”, someone who does not bite the middle finger of her right hand when she’s stressed, someone who does not think she has lost the keys to the office and freaks out then finds them in another bag in the closet, someone who is not fanatic about even skin, or say, someone who can walk and talk like everything is well after a long hard day in 9cm heels. Have you ever had this feeling? That you want to believe that you are actually in the position you are in, and that it’s really you who’s doing what you’re doing?

I got in this taxi yesterday with two other people who do not speak Arabic and the driver felt it a must to make small talk to me. I generally never appreciate small talk in cars with strangers but it would not have been decent not to respond to this man’s inquisition. Then he went a bit astray and thought me a member of his family, he went on to telling me, for no obvious reason that I can possibly think of, how he successfully reunited a cousin of his with her husband after 40 years of divorce. Why would I ever be interested in knowing that about a stranger woman, from a stranger man, I cannot tell. He told me that all the same, and I felt most uncomfortable so all my smiles were fake.

I hated it when the dearest Italian professor to my heart told me last week that I am beginning to look like a “career woman”. Oh, it was terrible. I dismissed it instantly, I told him I hated it and that I pray I never look like that. He said the nice colors are gone, but I confessed it was only for a couple of days each week. His opinions in my private fashion matter to me greatly, as any other champion of true taste in life should deserve his opinions to count.

The pastries were not that good, they’d been baked in the morning and were wrinkley when I had them. But I was hungry enough to appreciate them and I wondered where Tsuki-San was. He must’ve been out to play, or sleeping as usual. He’s a lazy cat.

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This entry was posted on Thursday, April 27th, 2006 at 5:28 pm and is filed under Life. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.