I’m a wanderer with nomadic thoughts. Never settled, never stable. A restless mind dominates my nerves; I run bored of things easily, losing interest, the heart to pursue on. Such a kid, the mind is.
With another year knocking at the door, waste makes haste. Peeking into every possible nook and cranny, the conscience tries to tidy the room of all the mess made, and resolves to rectify the follies; get more organised before inviting the New Year in.
It’s a resolution-free year, simply because I didn’t manage well the past year’s. I didn’t learn to swim, couldn’t save enough to buy a pet vet van; in short, everything in the name of resolutions went sinking down the drain. Oh dear! The Goodreads failure was abysmal; the disappointment daunting. With pea-sized confidence, I have nor the will neither the heart, to suffer another setback, and so won’t be setting up…
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