I used to lose pieces of myself in books. In a place where time was unlimited rather than the precious commodity it is now. There's always something that needs to be done or rather be procrastinated from. Perhaps it's this vicious cycle that's created this swirling mess of misery. I see it all the time, reminders to step back, have a break, see the colours that flowers wear and yet, I could never shake off the niggling, snide voice at the back of my mind that shrilly shrieked I was wasting time.
Today is not one of these days. Sure, exams loom like a guillotine above my neck, but it's in the future rather than the looming present. Assignments are done and dusted which leaves only study to be conducted at a far more relaxed pace.. in between relaxation itself.
I'm delusional. Sydney has been far too warm for the solace of knits, but if I'm going to relax, I'm going all out. Especially with socks. Apparently, Jane Austen was progressive for her time and her books are rather feminist. Ah sigh. There are worse ways to spend a Saturday I suppose..
Taking a cue to look after myself, I stopped into the money drain that is Lush and stepped out with a Massage Therapy Bar that supposedly does wonders for fading stretchmarks and scars. Skip the water, and massage it directly in. Seems like a pleasing low maintenance addition to my post shower regime. All for the sake of smelling the roses.
The thrilling saga of chilling like a villain will end at night, preferably in bed and maybe burning a scented candle that smells like cake.
Hey, you. You seem stressed. So here's another person on the internet telling you to chill out. From one stressed out person to another, you deserve a break.