Today's Muse: Popping Basketballs

I sit here, staring at this screen, drinking something that burns each time it travels down my throat, and does painful things to my stomach. I really ought to get some water instead.

I destroyed the third draft of An Exercise in Obsession an hour ago.

As I look over my notes for the gazillionth time, crossing out points and reworking others with a scratchy red pen (I really ought to get a new pen.), I wonder dully, why am I putting myself through this? It's been months since I embarked on this project. And still nothing.

There's a five-dollar note in my wallet.

I ought to sleep more.

Today's Muse: Where's my other sock, damnit!


"So, you're baking how many cakes? From scatch?"

"Don't worry, piece of cake." (Mein Gott, I actually said that.)

"Well, aren't you going to use the machine? To, er, mix the stuff?"

"No! I'll beat it by hand."

"With a wooden spoon."

"Yeah. No problem."

"That batter looks really sticky."

"No problem."

Two hours and a couple of cakes later



"Your hand is all purple."

"..."

"Fuck off."


I'm so sick of cake it's not even funny.
Party tomorrow. Woo. I haven't got anything weird to wear. Shit and knockers. Where the hell did I put my glasses? I liked today, apart from turning my hand into mince meat. We went to Toys-R-Us, but there weren't any screaming children to trip and I tried one of those expensive ball machines and it spewed a Japanese interpretation of a Punk Minnie Mouse, with boots and everything. And I saw Natra and a lovely art exhibition. And I had beef noodles later. It was very good, but now I am in pain.

Thanks to everyone who sent me birthday wishes today (and those who didn't but wished it in their hearts or dark and musty regions). Love you lot, except for those of you I don't love. You know who you are. Or I know who you are. Whichever, if ever. Orgh... the pain!

Today's Muse: Stupid subtext!

Today is the last day of my sixteenth year. Aw. Too bad. I liked being sixteen. Around half-past six tomorrow it'll all be gone.

What will being a year older bring? I don't know, and I really don't care. I'm sitting here trying to figure out how I can bake a gazallion items in one morning. I have two ovens, with extra shelving... a toaster oven...

Man, I'm spending way too much time at scans_daily. Here's one of the reasons. And another. And one more.

The Goddamn Batman, indeed.

Today's Muse: Ninja!

This video makes me happy. When I was seven or eight we used to jump off the low balcony at Tiong Bahru and land on the grass. Wei Loong used to be able to jump onto the ground from the top of the three-metre high "Rocket" jungle gym, too.

We also used to roll down the steep grassy slope curled up into balls, but that was just dumb.

Today's Muse: Noise.

I didn't sleep very well. Most of today was spent writing down and analyzing some crack dream I had, instead of working on more pressing matters.

I hate it when that happens.


PS: Found thirty-five bucks in a pair of old shorts. Looks like I can afford to throw a party now. Man, I'm whaaaacky like that. Wanting to throw a party. Fuck it. No apologies.

I promise to write something more substantial next time.

Today's Muse: Bah. Humbug. Bahug.

I put off getting tickets for Jason Mraz's concert, and now they're sold out. So much for b'day treat. Hmph. It doesn't matter. Just a, y'know. Just a little show; a chance to hear the music live and see what exactly is so attractive about the Mraz live show. Yup. Never mind. Rest of the Mosaic Festival to hop about.

I missed the Franz Ferdinand show earlier, too. Didn't kill me.



Excuse me while I go sob in a corner like a little effeminate boy.

Pooks and Ta! Come July, Sicki's gonna be blazing at Lasalle! Fuck yeah!

The school called just as I was getting off the train at the ridiculously noisy Orchard Station. I heard like, three words - "Lasalle", "Next", and "Congrats".

Kids: Don't attempt to dance a jig whilst in a crowded train station.

PS: I gots me new fwee sockings. The Japanese have tiny feet, don't they?


PS2: The new Gorillaz video makes me happy. In a, twisting blade sort of way.

Today's Muse: I got wrist burn from this laptop.

Woo... Trivia night was bitchin'.

I'm getting transferred, since they apparently don't need that many people on set. Maybe desk duty, or get stuck inhaling paint fumes at production. Who knows? Mmm... fumes.

But, it looks like my birthday day will be free. Goddamn I think I killed my elbow.

On Saturday I saw Marium at the library at Victoria Street. We wandered upstairs, meaning to go to the reference levels, when some dude with a fistful of tickets gave us two free passes to Army Daze, playing at the theatre upstairs. We ran and got in just as they were closing the doors. Pretty good seats, too.

Yup. March is shaping up to be a good birthday.

Now... Food.

Today's Muse: Man, Aunt May's a tough old biddy. Gwen Stacy didn't even survive that height.

I need a new pair of glasses.

And a haircut. And a new pair of walking shoes. And socks. And brussel sprouts. Good god, you don't just take someone's brussel sprouts and slather soy sauce all over them! They were my sprouts!

I need to finish the draft, the design proposal, the clothes patterns, pull together a team for the Margaret shtick, organise the closet, pay off Da Jie, find an excuse to contact Lenny and deftly bring up the July trip, plan the July trip, finish dicking around with the hat and the shirt and the bag, finish reading the robotics book and the school shooting study, get paint for the walls and the furniture, oh bother the paint!

I also need to pull together a decent bash for Da Jie, get Natalie's present, memorize goddamn Evening, stop putting off stretching (Spiderman flexible? Hah.), call and haress the work-a-lady (Two agonising weeks and no reply!), stop worrying about Lasalle (Why no call? Why no call? They said they would call last week!), get my cracking knees looked at, pack Kim's junk, buy the cat new eating utensils (Argh! Have to take the train up there to give him a bath!), ask Mother where the verdamnt sunblock is, put together on-set kit (Safety pins, what else, what else?), and somehow get cash.

This turned out long. Now I feel dirty.

Today's Muse: A Stiff Wrist

I'm a little ill today.

I found some old paints left over from when I was thirteen? Fourteen? and still took art in school. Seeing as I needed samples to give an idea of the colour for the walls, I started mixing paints, hoping to finally use them up - I had to pound the paint out of the tubes, and ended up cutting them open.

I ended up making the picture you see above. I started running out of the mixed purple by the time half the paper was covered, and I ended up with one side smooth and solid and the other all streaky. So I wet the brush and just made streaks everywhere.

The green bit didn't quite some out the way I wanted it to. The whole shades shit turned out more shit than shades.

Ach. Painting isn't my strong suit, at any rate. I was making it up as I went along. But it was just the thing for an otherwise ill sort of afternoon.

Today's Muse: My glasses are held together with wire.

Each time I attempt to articulate my disappointment or anger, or those more, emotional, moments, it always seems to come out contrived and whiny. It feels insincere; that I'm simply making mountains out of molehills. I mean, what do I know of unhappiness?

I've always meant to address the issue of "venting" on a public domain like the internet - I think it's, in short, stupid. It's like advertising; one is looking for sympathy and attention.

But we do, don't we?

So, as I go on to vent, am I looking for sympathy? Attention? Why do I write here, instead of on paper, never to be shown to the world?

Why am I dwelling on the discomfort, anyway?



Some dreams disappear without our noticing. They ebb away, bit by bit, ever so slowly. Those sort of leavings never hurt. Perhaps a dull sort of surprise from us when they're gone, but never hurt.

Other dreams we cast off ourselves, usually for bigger, shiner dreams. Or we build on the original; embellishing and expanding until the tiny, humble idea is hidden under flourishes and baubles. We forget them, eventually, moving on.


And certain dreams are ripped from us.


It's made doubly painful by the fact that you knew the dream was doomed from the start. Haven't you had dreams like that? Dreams you knew, oh, knew very well would never come into being. But still you persisted, hiding the truth with optimism and maybe, just maybe...

I think that reaction is trained into us from young; to believe even though we know it is futile. Think about the stories we were fed - the endless Christmas movies! Conditioning us to hope for the impossible. As we grow older there are more stories - A band of unlikely heroes defeat the greatest power in the land? A scrawny boy transformed into a superpowered hero? A terminal patient miraculously cured? - and so on and so forth...

And so on and so forth.

And you know, oh, you know very well that it was a silly thing to hope for, and you're being foolish putting so much emotion into it. You shouldn't feel like you've been torn to pieces; you shouldn't feel like you've been emptied. You should be laughing it off, like a grown, mature person. You should be shrugging your shoulders and rolling your eyes.

And yet you find your eyes a tad too wet.

And you know, you know all too well that you will eventually be laughing at and shrugging your shoulders and rolling your eyes at your current grief. And this knowledge saddens you; that one day your dead dream will no longer matter to you. That you will cease to care.

And there is nothing you can do.

Oh, go to bed Missy, you melodramatic twerp. Don't you dare start sniffling.

Today's Muse: This onslaught of giggles

Sooo... This is the month of March.

She scuttles off giggling to do many secret glee-inducing things that have absolutely nothing to do with birthdays.