Today's Muse: The fairy of frivolity - there she goes again, kicking up her skirts.
So, it's just after midnight and I still need to finish the damn essay for Tuesday, plus I still haven't memorized the monologue. I just can't seem to bring myself to read it the way it's supposed to be read. It's frivolous and cotton-headed and vacuous, and oh, I want to slice it thinly and dump it into boiling oil.
It's fustrating, seeing as I know I'm perfectly capable of doing the piece - I just don't want to. I want to ace the interview. I want very much to put up good show, if simply to satisfy my self-imposed standerds. I hate watching playbacks of my performances; so many mistakes I didn't see then, so many ways I could have done that or this better, shoddy, shoddy, shoddy. Akin to scrubbing my skin off with bleach and a scourer. With Simple Plan playing in the background.
I want to ace the audition, but I don't want to do the piece. I don't know how this works, either.
Oh, for fuck's sake, Missy, you buckle down and do the speech. If it's meant to be read by an empty-headed, moronic twit in crinolines and lead, you jolly well read it like that.
Complaining here, instead of doing the rest of your 'in' pile. Go off and be weepy about comic books instead of tottering about on the inter-web.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Today's Muse: Wobbly Elbow
I had that steampunk-Chinatown-esque cowboy dream, the same one I had one I was a wee Missy. It was like watching an old, favourite movie; you know what's going to happen next but it still fills you with glee.
I did step in and change a couple of things; got the cowboy to make slightly different decisions this time round. It still ended up in that cramped Chinese restaurant, opposite the dastardly but buxom Snow. With the cowboy's mother in tow, of course. The cowboy never went anywhere without mother.
And I still woke up before the the key gun battle, damnit.
I keep forgetting to write this up. A few days ago I was at the MRT station, waiting for the train when I ran into an old neighbour and playmate. He was meeting his girlfriend (Ickle Pat has a girlie?), but opted to stay and chat briefly.
It was strange. I kept staring at this fellow, trying to see the little boy I used to push off the swings. Sometimes I could catch that boy, just briefly! in the way he would cock his head, or tap his finger. Good grief, I used to tower over him - and he's grown out his hair!
We had lost contact over the past year or so - I was nursing a grudge against his brother. Every time I spoke to the old troop that anger would flare up again, so slowly I stopped seeking them out. I suppose I didn't really feel their absence too keenly, what with secondary school life.
Everyone changes. Nothing can ever stay the same.
So we sat and talked at length. Trifles. Before he left, he told me how weird it was for him seeing me with short hair, since most of my life I've kept a ponytail. Before I could think of a (hopefully) witty comeback, he said something that left me at a loss.
"You've got Tommy-boy hair now."
God. The unspoken question. You gonna be him now? You going to take over?
Every single fucking time.
"No, no. I don't, no. My hair, too long."
We laughed, and parted.
We were kids, back when we knew each other. But we've grown, changed. All of us, we hardly speak any more. What happened to the rest? Yolk went to Australia; after that we just sort of drifted apart. Then that shite with Thomas. I wonder what happened to Wei Loong?
And frankly, I'm fine with things the way they are. If you're so eager for a reunion of sorts you do it. I'm not going to try and be the one link and bring everybody back together again, or what have you. Things didn't start uravelling with Tommy-boy, they were coming apart way before him. Let's just leave the memories as they are, damnit. Let's not spoil them with a horrible memory.
Besides Thomas' fuckery, of course.
Damn, now I'm all frustrated and angry. I'm going for a walk.
Back, with new THINGS. Good THINGS, hence the capitalization. Nice thing about this place (besides the fecking nicest floors in the world) is that the shopping district is only a short trudge through bush and mud and along highway away. Saw a battered travelling suitcase in the bushes; flirted briefly with the notion it contained dismembered body parts.
Lost hours to the library. Still in a steampunk-Chinatown-esque cowboy mood, I pulled a battered copy of Trigun off the shelf. I've never read the manga or watched the anime before, but so far I like what I'm reading. My only gripe is the way it seems to be composed early in the book; too much being crammed into one page. That means much squinty-joy. But it appeals to the detail-hungry fangirl in me.
I've been keeping away from manga for a while, come to think of it. I think after reading Tsutomu Nihei's BLAME!, I became a little disillusioned with whatever manga I read afterwards. Everything I got me grubby paws on seemed so dull after the awesome that is BLAME!. [Unrelated: Just found out Tokyopop's doing English trans. Should we be glad?]
So far, Trigun's shaping up to be a good read, as long as I put away the little snickering voice that goes "What the hell is that he's wearing? What's up with the whole 'spare the innocents' shtick? Isn't that like so, '96?" and so on. I even let myself squeal "His outfit is so cooooool!", quietly, of course.
How'd I start talking about this?
To recap, I spent a while at the library agonizing over which books I would eventually take home. I miss being able to take home eight paper babies at a time. That done, I hopped over to the huge bookstore and floated in and out of the comic section. It really has grown; I remember when it was just three shelves with daily funnies. Aww.
Then over to HMV, to raid the clearance racks. Found that A7x specimen that put me in the reckless sort of mood the other week. Glee.
To conclude, one muddy trudge, dinner and a session of replaying Matrix-Robot-Battle-Carnage later, I sit here typing all this out instead of working on my interview for school. Bad Missy, bad!
One more thing. I've an internship working on some yet-to-be released show, and my brother has some secret top-notch animation destined for television. So, I am in the midst of much secret glee. Don't tell anyone.
I'm a little apprehensive about the internship though. I don't mind the prospect of slogging in our weather, or even overnight or graveyard shoots, or the odd hours - it's the interacting with people. When you're about to be in a position where everyone else is above you and will probably use you as a punching bag, you're bound to be a least a little bit nervous.
Ach. I always have Stupid MF to fall back on.
I had that steampunk-Chinatown-esque cowboy dream, the same one I had one I was a wee Missy. It was like watching an old, favourite movie; you know what's going to happen next but it still fills you with glee.
I did step in and change a couple of things; got the cowboy to make slightly different decisions this time round. It still ended up in that cramped Chinese restaurant, opposite the dastardly but buxom Snow. With the cowboy's mother in tow, of course. The cowboy never went anywhere without mother.
And I still woke up before the the key gun battle, damnit.
I keep forgetting to write this up. A few days ago I was at the MRT station, waiting for the train when I ran into an old neighbour and playmate. He was meeting his girlfriend (Ickle Pat has a girlie?), but opted to stay and chat briefly.
It was strange. I kept staring at this fellow, trying to see the little boy I used to push off the swings. Sometimes I could catch that boy, just briefly! in the way he would cock his head, or tap his finger. Good grief, I used to tower over him - and he's grown out his hair!
We had lost contact over the past year or so - I was nursing a grudge against his brother. Every time I spoke to the old troop that anger would flare up again, so slowly I stopped seeking them out. I suppose I didn't really feel their absence too keenly, what with secondary school life.
Everyone changes. Nothing can ever stay the same.
So we sat and talked at length. Trifles. Before he left, he told me how weird it was for him seeing me with short hair, since most of my life I've kept a ponytail. Before I could think of a (hopefully) witty comeback, he said something that left me at a loss.
"You've got Tommy-boy hair now."
God. The unspoken question. You gonna be him now? You going to take over?
Every single fucking time.
"No, no. I don't, no. My hair, too long."
We laughed, and parted.
We were kids, back when we knew each other. But we've grown, changed. All of us, we hardly speak any more. What happened to the rest? Yolk went to Australia; after that we just sort of drifted apart. Then that shite with Thomas. I wonder what happened to Wei Loong?
And frankly, I'm fine with things the way they are. If you're so eager for a reunion of sorts you do it. I'm not going to try and be the one link and bring everybody back together again, or what have you. Things didn't start uravelling with Tommy-boy, they were coming apart way before him. Let's just leave the memories as they are, damnit. Let's not spoil them with a horrible memory.
Besides Thomas' fuckery, of course.
Damn, now I'm all frustrated and angry. I'm going for a walk.
Back, with new THINGS. Good THINGS, hence the capitalization. Nice thing about this place (besides the fecking nicest floors in the world) is that the shopping district is only a short trudge through bush and mud and along highway away. Saw a battered travelling suitcase in the bushes; flirted briefly with the notion it contained dismembered body parts.
Lost hours to the library. Still in a steampunk-Chinatown-esque cowboy mood, I pulled a battered copy of Trigun off the shelf. I've never read the manga or watched the anime before, but so far I like what I'm reading. My only gripe is the way it seems to be composed early in the book; too much being crammed into one page. That means much squinty-joy. But it appeals to the detail-hungry fangirl in me.
I've been keeping away from manga for a while, come to think of it. I think after reading Tsutomu Nihei's BLAME!, I became a little disillusioned with whatever manga I read afterwards. Everything I got me grubby paws on seemed so dull after the awesome that is BLAME!. [Unrelated: Just found out Tokyopop's doing English trans. Should we be glad?]
So far, Trigun's shaping up to be a good read, as long as I put away the little snickering voice that goes "What the hell is that he's wearing? What's up with the whole 'spare the innocents' shtick? Isn't that like so, '96?" and so on. I even let myself squeal "His outfit is so cooooool!", quietly, of course.
How'd I start talking about this?
To recap, I spent a while at the library agonizing over which books I would eventually take home. I miss being able to take home eight paper babies at a time. That done, I hopped over to the huge bookstore and floated in and out of the comic section. It really has grown; I remember when it was just three shelves with daily funnies. Aww.
Then over to HMV, to raid the clearance racks. Found that A7x specimen that put me in the reckless sort of mood the other week. Glee.
To conclude, one muddy trudge, dinner and a session of replaying Matrix-Robot-Battle-Carnage later, I sit here typing all this out instead of working on my interview for school. Bad Missy, bad!
One more thing. I've an internship working on some yet-to-be released show, and my brother has some secret top-notch animation destined for television. So, I am in the midst of much secret glee. Don't tell anyone.
I'm a little apprehensive about the internship though. I don't mind the prospect of slogging in our weather, or even overnight or graveyard shoots, or the odd hours - it's the interacting with people. When you're about to be in a position where everyone else is above you and will probably use you as a punching bag, you're bound to be a least a little bit nervous.
Ach. I always have Stupid MF to fall back on.
Monday, February 20, 2006
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Parents, I have a confession to make. I am the one whom has been tripping your small children in Toys R Us. Yes, I, using the spindly limbs gifted to me at birth, have been quietly sticking said limbs in front of your precious little darlings.
Look, they wouldn't hit the floor so hard if they weren't tearing up and down the aisles at breakneck speed, screeching and waving plastic weapons. It's a store, not a play area. Most times they don't need my assistance; they end up crashing headlong into displays anyway.
How would I like it if someone did that to my nephews and nieces? If they were up to half the screaming and crashing I see these days, I'd trip them myself. The gladsome thing is that it's been reinforced over and over that they are not to treat the store like a free-for-all.
I must admit though, it's a little strange to see them brooding over a toy quietly while other kids dash at each other madly with plastic maces and doll prams.
On a seperate note, I really, really, really love Legos. Why are you so bloody expensive, my sweet?
Look, they wouldn't hit the floor so hard if they weren't tearing up and down the aisles at breakneck speed, screeching and waving plastic weapons. It's a store, not a play area. Most times they don't need my assistance; they end up crashing headlong into displays anyway.
How would I like it if someone did that to my nephews and nieces? If they were up to half the screaming and crashing I see these days, I'd trip them myself. The gladsome thing is that it's been reinforced over and over that they are not to treat the store like a free-for-all.
I must admit though, it's a little strange to see them brooding over a toy quietly while other kids dash at each other madly with plastic maces and doll prams.
On a seperate note, I really, really, really love Legos. Why are you so bloody expensive, my sweet?
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Today's Muse: This Overwhelming Need to Bump Off the Last Post
Yesterday was Valentine's Day, wasn't it? It didn't actually sink in until I found myself running (in the most literal sense of the word) late for choir and had to leap over one of the many couples populating the district.
Oh shit. I forgot to take the candy the girls gave me last night out of my bag.
Yesterday was Valentine's Day, wasn't it? It didn't actually sink in until I found myself running (in the most literal sense of the word) late for choir and had to leap over one of the many couples populating the district.
Oh shit. I forgot to take the candy the girls gave me last night out of my bag.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Today's Muse: You know, I don't know why I still do this "muse", thing. It seemed smart at the time.
Amusing story: I've been trying to get an internship with a media company. They asked me to call them back when I had my results (and thus, knew more or less where I was headed next), which I did. Over and over. For days (Bad impression.). Both numbers.
Finally, after a plaintive message had been sent, they called back today. Twice.
I was eating lunch upstairs, and just one floor down, in the basement, my phone tittered quietly. Unheard.
It's supposed to be funny, y'know, irony and all that? And I should be laughing, I really ought to be laughing. Why aren't I laughing?
Maybe it's because all those goddamned A's on my results slip has got people bombarding me with advice: Go to JC! Get a scholarship and go overseas! Your parents aren't young, you know! How're you going to pay? Lasalle isn't established. Waste, waste, waste.
We stood on opposing sides, belting out argument after argument, reason after reason, trying desperately to change our opponent's mind. I might as well have just said Fuck off, instead of all those long fancy speeches. We would have still arrived at the same standpoint.
No, I didn't fight with my parents. They've hammered it over and over into my skull that the choice is mine, and that they trust my decision. It's the rest of the world I've been giving the finger.
In hindsight, I have been unreasonable. After a certain number of people giving me the same long speech with the same reasons, it's a little difficult for me to continue to sit down and nod emphatically - Yes, yes, point taken, I understand, quite right. Y'know, they didn't come up and say anything when the preliminary results came out.
Yet, doubt. Damnit. Some of the incessant yammering must have gotten through.
Something good did come out of this whole fiasco. My Dad, quiet, gentle, neutral Da, actually convinced me to still go for Lasalle. He argued for it, shot my own feeble protests (recycled from the endless advice) down, pointed out where I could go from Lasalle. He was able to clearly articulate what I was unable to even identify. Good old Da.
I wish I was a self-assured as I was four days and one Matrix movie ago. The battle robots were, and are still cool. I love the battle for Zion. Bam! Bam! Woosh!
By the way, my family and I drove up to Malacca for the weekend for a wedding dinner for a cousin I didn't know I had. Kim and I spent the drive talking excitedly about cartoons we used to watch years ago.
Did anyone see that one Transformer movie with those stunted robots with the rotating faces and the huge bad-ass organic robot with the tentacles and everything? I remember being horribly scarred by that sequence; when one of the Transformer robots is captured and hoisted in the air by the zombie-tentacle thing, and he's just thrashing about and screaming bloody hell.
Damn, I can hear him now.
Amusing story: I've been trying to get an internship with a media company. They asked me to call them back when I had my results (and thus, knew more or less where I was headed next), which I did. Over and over. For days (Bad impression.). Both numbers.
Finally, after a plaintive message had been sent, they called back today. Twice.
I was eating lunch upstairs, and just one floor down, in the basement, my phone tittered quietly. Unheard.
It's supposed to be funny, y'know, irony and all that? And I should be laughing, I really ought to be laughing. Why aren't I laughing?
Maybe it's because all those goddamned A's on my results slip has got people bombarding me with advice: Go to JC! Get a scholarship and go overseas! Your parents aren't young, you know! How're you going to pay? Lasalle isn't established. Waste, waste, waste.
We stood on opposing sides, belting out argument after argument, reason after reason, trying desperately to change our opponent's mind. I might as well have just said Fuck off, instead of all those long fancy speeches. We would have still arrived at the same standpoint.
No, I didn't fight with my parents. They've hammered it over and over into my skull that the choice is mine, and that they trust my decision. It's the rest of the world I've been giving the finger.
In hindsight, I have been unreasonable. After a certain number of people giving me the same long speech with the same reasons, it's a little difficult for me to continue to sit down and nod emphatically - Yes, yes, point taken, I understand, quite right. Y'know, they didn't come up and say anything when the preliminary results came out.
Yet, doubt. Damnit. Some of the incessant yammering must have gotten through.
Something good did come out of this whole fiasco. My Dad, quiet, gentle, neutral Da, actually convinced me to still go for Lasalle. He argued for it, shot my own feeble protests (recycled from the endless advice) down, pointed out where I could go from Lasalle. He was able to clearly articulate what I was unable to even identify. Good old Da.
I wish I was a self-assured as I was four days and one Matrix movie ago. The battle robots were, and are still cool. I love the battle for Zion. Bam! Bam! Woosh!
By the way, my family and I drove up to Malacca for the weekend for a wedding dinner for a cousin I didn't know I had. Kim and I spent the drive talking excitedly about cartoons we used to watch years ago.
Did anyone see that one Transformer movie with those stunted robots with the rotating faces and the huge bad-ass organic robot with the tentacles and everything? I remember being horribly scarred by that sequence; when one of the Transformer robots is captured and hoisted in the air by the zombie-tentacle thing, and he's just thrashing about and screaming bloody hell.
Damn, I can hear him now.
Friday, February 10, 2006
Today's Muse: Five A's and one perfect B
Pleasant suprise, really. Didn't think I'd get so many A's. The single B is for my Additional Mathematics, and is actually a huge leap from the D's.
This, though, changes many things.
Already there is dissent at my choice of post-secondary education. I find myself slipping, even though my decision is a good three months old.
I have until morning to decide.
Knowing Missy, I'll probably spend it reading comic books and me new issue of Play Times: Tokidoki Special. The flat colours, the rounded figures, the sleek lines - much love. That, and Entre Fashion Systems.
I want that corseted vest and trench.
Pleasant suprise, really. Didn't think I'd get so many A's. The single B is for my Additional Mathematics, and is actually a huge leap from the D's.
This, though, changes many things.
Already there is dissent at my choice of post-secondary education. I find myself slipping, even though my decision is a good three months old.
I have until morning to decide.
Knowing Missy, I'll probably spend it reading comic books and me new issue of Play Times: Tokidoki Special. The flat colours, the rounded figures, the sleek lines - much love. That, and Entre Fashion Systems.
I want that corseted vest and trench.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Monday, February 06, 2006
Today's Muse: This Horrid Blister on My Toe - Damn Boots.
I laugh at you, you whom searches HMV's metal section, and complain it is inadequate. I LAUGH.
I will not explain why I laugh. Just understand that I laugh. It could be that I laugh at your futile attempts, or perhaps that you actually go to HMV expecting to find obscure metal, or that you think that for music to be good it must be obscure. It could also be that I simply like laughing. I'll get back to you when I subside.
Unrelated to my laughing: I was browsing the said section at said store (Found a spiny little specimen, going very cheap. Much glee ensued.) when behind me two middle-aged punks - complete with tattoos, bandannas plaid shirts and rounded bellies - paced the length repeating over and over: "Poseurs! Fucking poseurs!", and grinning as though they had said something of such superb intelligence that they had suprised even themselves.
Who knows what they were referring to? The selection of CDs on sale? The people browsing the racks?
It's always a tad disheartening to see something obscure reach popularity, isn't it? Suddenly this band you've listened to since they were (figuratively) in diapers has kids, kids clamouring for their CDs.
It's actually kind of a litmus test for sussing out insecure individuals on the internet; they list their music interests and then very quickly put the disclaimer: I listened to them way before they got famous.
My own experiance: I once heard MSI courtesy of this girl from drama. Several years later I heard they released a new music video, which I got off the net. I dug up their 2005 release from under stacks of Metallica at Borders. I played it on endless loop.
I loved it. I wanted to share it with the world, or so I felt. I convinced one friend to take a listen, and she liked it. Then she told someone else. And so on.
Suddenly it seemed as though everyone was talking about MSI. Singing Stupid MF (badly) at lunch. And through it all I started thinking: Maybe I should have kept it to myself.
There's this misplaced sense of, perhaps, belonging that comes with the whole shit. The feeling of belonging to this secret club hardly anyone knows about, or understands. Some argue this is classic individualism, but I can't help but disagree.
I haven't even scratched the surface; I've walked drunk all over it. Some of these ideas are being used in An Exercise in Obsession (which happens to be going well). We could go so many places with this starter - criticism of subcultures (individual or collective?), the "Popularity=Sellout?" debate, and er, that chap downstairs ought to get new swim shorts.
I feel rather iffy today.
Exam results out on Friday. Be still, heart.
I mean it, shut the fuck up.
I laugh at you, you whom searches HMV's metal section, and complain it is inadequate. I LAUGH.
I will not explain why I laugh. Just understand that I laugh. It could be that I laugh at your futile attempts, or perhaps that you actually go to HMV expecting to find obscure metal, or that you think that for music to be good it must be obscure. It could also be that I simply like laughing. I'll get back to you when I subside.
Unrelated to my laughing: I was browsing the said section at said store (Found a spiny little specimen, going very cheap. Much glee ensued.) when behind me two middle-aged punks - complete with tattoos, bandannas plaid shirts and rounded bellies - paced the length repeating over and over: "Poseurs! Fucking poseurs!", and grinning as though they had said something of such superb intelligence that they had suprised even themselves.
Who knows what they were referring to? The selection of CDs on sale? The people browsing the racks?
It's always a tad disheartening to see something obscure reach popularity, isn't it? Suddenly this band you've listened to since they were (figuratively) in diapers has kids, kids clamouring for their CDs.
It's actually kind of a litmus test for sussing out insecure individuals on the internet; they list their music interests and then very quickly put the disclaimer: I listened to them way before they got famous.
My own experiance: I once heard MSI courtesy of this girl from drama. Several years later I heard they released a new music video, which I got off the net. I dug up their 2005 release from under stacks of Metallica at Borders. I played it on endless loop.
I loved it. I wanted to share it with the world, or so I felt. I convinced one friend to take a listen, and she liked it. Then she told someone else. And so on.
Suddenly it seemed as though everyone was talking about MSI. Singing Stupid MF (badly) at lunch. And through it all I started thinking: Maybe I should have kept it to myself.
There's this misplaced sense of, perhaps, belonging that comes with the whole shit. The feeling of belonging to this secret club hardly anyone knows about, or understands. Some argue this is classic individualism, but I can't help but disagree.
I haven't even scratched the surface; I've walked drunk all over it. Some of these ideas are being used in An Exercise in Obsession (which happens to be going well). We could go so many places with this starter - criticism of subcultures (individual or collective?), the "Popularity=Sellout?" debate, and er, that chap downstairs ought to get new swim shorts.
I feel rather iffy today.
Exam results out on Friday. Be still, heart.
I mean it, shut the fuck up.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Today's Muse: Hard Sugar Icing
Today I had cake to supplement my writing diet of grain and water - you don't really feel like eating if there's no one around - courtesy of my niece Tara. She turned five today, and had a very, very, very, pink birthday in school.
I await the day - a tad fearfully, of course - when she decides that pink is a baby colour.
Do you remember that moment? When you started singing "Barney's Dead On the Floor" instead of "I Love You"? When knock-knock jokes lost their flavour? When dresses became a bother, and you took to wearing long sleeves?
I don't. Perhaps it hasn't happened yet. Little Brother Kim sure seems to. He's hit the age when
all life seems bleak, and there isn't a point in trying. He doesn't smile as much; he's always so guarded. He prefers black, now, and sitting alone in a corner thinking. What happened to the noisy kid who kept tailing me?
Y'know, when I discovered anime, I was about nine or ten. Flame Of Recca - not exactly kid's fare, but I lapped it up. So did Kim. Every thing I embarked on - be it the comic books, the shows, the music, the philosophies - Kim learnt about it too, and usually adopted it. Sometimes it annoyed me. Kim, though younger, knew as much as I did about the world, and then some. He learnt how to manipulate people into doing what we wanted from watching me, learnt how to lie effectively from me.
And then some.
And then suddenly he veered away. Now determined to beat his own path, he rejects ideas I voice. He still reads the books I get from the library, and he and I still share music sometimes. I accept he'll always be a better gamer, but I'm the one who searches for the help guides, and he does agree an XBox 360 will be a waste of money.
I guess, right now, he's angst and gloom. Well, I was (I hope it is was) angst and gloom. It's not easy holding my temper in check sometimes, and other days I can't stand the negativity, but, hey. It's probably retribution for all the people I pissed off when I was thirteen.
At least he knows proper forum etiquette. And how to decently flame - something, again, he seems to be better at.
Damn, I'm good.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Today's Muse: Dry as a bone, it is.
No proper work done today - What exactly is transpiring in that thick skull of yours, Missy? - Saw the parents off at the airport; they'll be back in about a week from Peneng (Sigh. I miss the place.).
I tore up An Exercise in Obsession. Wonderfully exhilarating. Started the second draft earlier.
This is turning out rather boring. I think I'll just go write some more.
PS: I blame whoever put Seventh on the store stereo. That sort of music puts one in a reckless mood; two CDs? Both clearance sale, yes, but not something one usually does.
ADD-ON: I came across a tiny poster stuck on a traffic light calling for paticipants in an open audition for a board-endorsed film project. Today only, from 3pm to 7.
I found the thing at 9pm.
If I was bitter, I'd blame the universe's constant attempts to screw me over. But we're all quite happy over here, aren't we?
No proper work done today - What exactly is transpiring in that thick skull of yours, Missy? - Saw the parents off at the airport; they'll be back in about a week from Peneng (Sigh. I miss the place.).
I tore up An Exercise in Obsession. Wonderfully exhilarating. Started the second draft earlier.
This is turning out rather boring. I think I'll just go write some more.
PS: I blame whoever put Seventh on the store stereo. That sort of music puts one in a reckless mood; two CDs? Both clearance sale, yes, but not something one usually does.
ADD-ON: I came across a tiny poster stuck on a traffic light calling for paticipants in an open audition for a board-endorsed film project. Today only, from 3pm to 7.
I found the thing at 9pm.
If I was bitter, I'd blame the universe's constant attempts to screw me over. But we're all quite happy over here, aren't we?