1 little 2 little 3 little sheepies..4 litlle 5 little 6 little...

Staring at my ceiling last night imagining what it would be like if: the ceiling was the ground and my ground the ceiling. How the stucco would feel on my bare feet and how the light could double as a heater as well as a source of illumination. How much more interesting it would be to stare at a ceiling with furniture stuck to it as opposed to the current bumpy cream stuff. Useless thinking really, a pre-bedtime routine to get me in sleep mode. I looked out the window and sadly came to the realization that sunshine would soon, if not already, be a thing of the past. I’d soon forget what summer felt, smelt and looked like and I’d be consumed by winter. Ramadan is round the corner and with it I sincerely hope a renewed sense of faith. I read a forward recently about how everyone of us has this inner struggle between good and evil where both are wolves. The one that takes over is ultimitely the one you feed. I wonder if I’ve been feeding the wrong one?

I made pacts to read more and connect more last Ramadan. I made pacts to pray more. I remembered that I’d done less that year than all the years before. I wonder if it was the pacts that set me back?

I remembered a conversation with my friend’s mummy about this feeling of being lost and not knowing what my purpose was. This conversation about how a better job just didn’t hold any excitement no sense of fulfillment. How the extra money earned didn’t present a world of opportunity because I simply had no desire to spend it.
It makes no sense to me!
And driving me crazy! Shouldn’t I be all about the spending and buying? Isn’t that what young professional women do? They make money to spend it? Shouldn’t I be leafing through magazines trying to cut my hair in a way that “perfectly reflects me.” And contemplating how to perfectly accessorize my new cell phone? Wheather the next pair of shoes I get should be from Aldo or transit. Souldn't i be yearning for a new purse from guess' new collection? Shouldn’t Halt Renfrew hold a special place in my heart and the perfume isles at the Bay excite every inch of my being? I’ve had this discussion with myself a gazillion and ten times. It’s always been too exhausting too superficial and too petty. But really the world judges you on what you look like. What’s the use of being gold on the inside if you don’t shine?
Why not change with the world that surrounds you and be hip and into all that is “cool”. Why not love yourself enough to want all those pretty things? Why can’t all this primping grooming and shopping just casually fall into the self improvement category? But at the end of the day. I refuse to buy into the commercials and the soap, the creams the clothes and the accessories that claim will make me complete, that promise to captivate all that surround me.
All this conversation in my head.. I should totally just project it onto objects and that way have a conversation with something other than myself... much like paulo cohelo did in the fifth mountain. I could befriend my bedside table or better yet my uninspirational cieling.. I could ask poor stucco the questions and before he gets a chance to respond i could give him my opinion and declare it his..Stupid bumper stickers... they work! Their msgs embedded in my brain..."everyone is entitled to my opinion" The ones that irk me the most are these new ones emerging everywhere. "support our troops" they're magnetic... I've visciously confiscated 4 so far... I'll have none of that in my space...my eyes don't need to see it... if the owner wants the world to know he/she is militant well they'll have to do it on their own time not mine and not through a medium i come in contact with... i'll have none of it...not on my watch. fuck freedom of speech. Hypocracy at its best here I hate that people control the space that surrounds me...why oh why am i eternally punished by forcebly being exposed to arabic drama on the tele 24/7? yes ok my granny is a wonderfull woman and she's loosing her hearing so the tv being at top volume is understandable... but whyyyyyyy oh whyyyyy must any trip to the kitchen be accompanied by the sound of a ya lahwee? And on that note y must any trip to the convenience store be accompanied by some random woman who can't drive in the first place telling some other woman off in cantonees? Yeah sure its exotic and under normal circumstanes I like forign sounds but when you've built a superstore that has chineese take out at the low low price of $3.00 and in the process have managed to make the air that surronds me smell like crayfish.. A smell might I add that seeps into your bones through ur pores and clings onto them like no tommorw... I am in no mood to listen to your high pitched squealing. but i'm ranting and being totally intolerant here soo like the good little girl that I am I'm going to follow in lady macbeth's footsteps and "out... out damned spot... out I say".