Tonight, as I fight off the urge to just tumble on to the bedcovers, I contemplate at how deprived I am of time. I don't for example, and unfortunately for me, see how I can send a letter at the post office anytime soon.

Let me explain. I work from 9 to 6, from Monday to Saturday and have only one hour to spare for lunch. By the time I reach home, all the post offices in this country would be virtually deserted. I've been meaning to send Paolo a postcard but I don't see how I can manage to do that with only one measly hour to spare everyday except on Sundays when all post offices are closed. I've been meaning to send Lisa a postcard too (I have heaps of cute YoCards kept somewhere in my room and one artistic postcard bought from National Bookstore the day I watched The Other Boleyn Girl alone), but this is the only time it dawned on me that this simple feat is seemingly insurmountable. 

Because I do not have the time.

Sometimes I feel like I'm already 27 years old (because most of my officemates are older than me), with no social life whatsoever. It used to frighten me - this feeling of feeling old with a desk job and graying in front of a PC. Now, I am more frightened that I am getting used to it.