Sunday Blues

I spent last night in tears.

Despite reading Brokeback Mountain twice (the second time aloud to PP) my emotions insisted on running amok when I watched the movie. By the time the credits rolled, the Mandarin orange I was clutching was liberally splashed with the saltiness of heartbreak. PP exhaled a cloud of smoke and said, 'Wow.' It was the perfect ending to a perfect holiday.

Besides the unexpected run-ins with startling family secrets, the glorious nine days were spent learning new card games, losing ang pau money during the traditional Chinese New Year family gambling, gorging myself silly and best of all, burying myself in books without a slightest tinge of guilt. I have my thumb in Salina, one finger in The Quiet American, another finger in The Bus Stopped and a third finger in The Light Of Yoga. The only book I completed was Sula by Toni Morrison, which to my surprise, I didn't quite enjoy. But I will give her another chance with Beloved.

Right now I'm trying to pull myself together in preparation to return to the real world tomorrow. I'm suffering from Sunday Blues again.