A compulsive dribble

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 I can't seem to stop writing. Part of this could be to avoid continuing reading the thriller, 'Sharp Objects' by Gillian Flynn. I am still at the beginning but it's already disturbing.

Went for a walk. It was so gorgeous and fresh. It was overcast. There wasn't any rain or strong gust when I left home. But midway, the trees were heaving this way and that and the sky had turned the colour of wet grey silk...the sort that makes even leaves look luscious. A number of birds circled around without flapping their wings. They looked motorized. 

Ordered onion rings from Ninos. It was okay. But I hadn't eaten onion rings for a long time and I wanted something deep-fried. But am feeling sick now.

I feel as if I should write more. But I also feel like making chai. 

Hmm.

Chai it is. 



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