What is the difference between spending my weary Sunday afternoon inside my dreary room (which is looked like a dorm, my friend say) with cluttered books, baggy and some mails (not to mention the junk foods, drinks, strings of hairs that fell off my head -I am getting bald soon, me a bald lady, I can’t imagine how I am going to look like- and some personal belongings) and sitting in the shaded part of the park with my current reading and two bags of groceries and of course my undying point and shoot camera?

Because I was again, attacked by monstrous boredom - I compare him with Goliath, and I am David, ready to sling a stone to strike my opponent (monstrous boredom), but instead I hit the shower room, wear my once used jeans and I didn’t forget my shirt of course. I picked my book -the single women’s best friend according to one movie I have watched - and beat the humid weather and yet again, the lonesome street.

Beside the cluttered stuff, I missed my laptop.  But I wasn’t in a miserable state as I am just sitting or lying down the floor inside my room.  I was so relaxed with the breeze that sways my hair, I even want to meditate, if not for the roaring sound of the orange helicopter around the hospital nearby, I think I would be able to do that.

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