Whisk me away to a secret world...

Thursday, January 24, 2008

It's actually no choice.

3.11am 24 January 2008 Thursday

In my other blog I scribbled something about Hobson's choice, and what it meant. It was to preserve the memory of that brief conversation we had, but in hindsight, I actually have no choice. There's nothing much wrong with anything, and I know I'm just restless now. The ground that has been constantly moving beneath your feet seem to have been steady for too long under mine, and the sudden motion feels like someone just pulled the carpet out from underfoot.

I don't want to expound on how nice or great or good looking T is, because there isn't any point. The point is that I've made my bed and now I shall lie in it, because it is a perfectly fine and sturdy bed. Perhaps I should open my eyes to the fact that I've inherited the "roving eye" gene, and that I simply fall into such situations too easily.