India

I supposedly started back at work on Monday. But actually I didn't. I am feeling like the laziest SOB this side of the equator. I am well entrenched in my book reading, late morning sleep-ins, unstructured days with no one to answer to, late afternoon naps and very little work.
I rang alot of my girlfriends today to wish them happy new year and not one of them answered their phones.....I take that as a sign from the universe that I am meant to be on this extended holiday and they have granted me an extension on my 'stress-free voucher for one' ride. I'm reading a delicious book called The Death of Mr Love. A story of love, murder, jealousy, unlove, death and family set in India. I have a softness for India after travelling the southern regions for 2 months in 2002. Even though I was 35 when I went there, I was still very much a child in terms of my awareness, my appreciation for the resilience of the human spirit and my ability to view my life in Western culture as an overindulged baby. The mental and cultural challenges that I faced were some of the greatest moments in my transition from child to adulthood I have ever experienced. Reading that book for the last few days has transported me back to the heat, population, pollution and overwhelming spirit of life that is India. Words on paper. Once written they have the ability to open the door to immortality.
Night night

h2