Slices of nothing

Writing is a relief and thank the Edison of weblog who made writing so accessible to ordinary hands. I am saying writing is a relief for me, because in times like this, when there is no one around to hear you yak without analyzing your words or be wise with you when unnecessary; or when your girl friend is not around or her mom is in town and you can't whisper things to her ears, then you asylum to writing, writing about everything and nothing, writing about slices of life, your life, my life or life of a pedestrian who is just a pleasant stranger to you and means nothing to you but impulsive eye contact which lasts only a blink and half. Here is a slice of my life today, boring may be, but true:

Came back from work; had heart burn, had it since early afternoon; craved for a glass of milk and dates; noticed one missed call from F.; called her, flirted with her like I flirt with my girl friend -- 'cuz F. is my girl friend; sort of complained and nagged about how she's neglected me since her mom came to town -- her town not mine/we live in different time zones; exchanged a couple of "tele-phonny" kisses, said I love you, heard I love you back, hung up; laid back on the coach in front of Friends; released couple of real laughters because of Joey; flipped the channels; fell in sleep during flipping; woke up one hour later starving; warmed up left overs; ate like a perfect modern human being in front of the TV; went to the back yard; chatted a little bit with the lazy guy in the basement and returned him 50 bucks; told him count it twice before handing over your rent; came back inside; watched Seinfeld, Friends, Sex and the city; Got sick of myself and TV; grabbed the laptop; logged into Blogger as SlicesOfLife; paused while looking at the ceiling; started writing like this: "Writing is a relief..."