reading vs. pretence

i sit in front of the screen keeping busy while the bustle passes by my tiny cubicle continuously. i wonder what would be appropriate to do. i am not in the state of mind to get work done. no point pushing it. well, at least at this moment, tomorrow seems a more plausible excuse. my eyes swept around my tiny space, taking in all the items that i have accumulated over the past years. my goodness, an odd assortment of objects and figurines, almost surreal. like my wardrobe, i notice curious items that i did not know i own. from afar, i hear familiar voices, involuntarily eavesdropping, droning conversations. would it be too much to be reading a book right now? this pretence is really boring.