middle child

urh, full blown middle child blues.

: (
i haven’t started my emboidery,
and everyone is questioning if i even will.

bah, humbug.

Filed under: musings

detached

Finally the week came to a close last night, and i found myself doing all the great things i love to do on my own (which to be honest, i dont really love to be on my own)–great music, funny-as-hell show, and hooo boy, i am one sleepy-contented little grub.

anyway, the best friends were how sweet last night, coming over to play 2 rounds with me because they knew i’ve been itching. i lost 10 cents to the paikar–again.
soo soo says maybe we play tonight again.
whoo hoo. i hope i hope.
i cannot call her, if not i’ll appear too needy.

anyway, it finally arrived in the mail 2 days ago!!
my emboidery book is finally here.
went to spotlight yesterday and spent too much money
on threads and cloths and needles.
(poor lavi.)

www.sublimestitching.com

that’s where the book is from.

see?? it’s 10 am, i am awake already.

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happy burpday

happy burpday baby!

i wrote her an sms:

happy burpday teenager! now you are old enough to get all emotionally wonky, rebel against the parents, and have tons of pimples! love you baby! 13 years ago this time, you were all slimy and gross, and now you are no longer slimy, just gross.

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derivatives

i am T-1hour to doing everything i can.

then after that, that’s it.

one more hour is all i’m putting in.

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addiction

so we while away the hours around the mahjong table, like those half-stoned concubines of the sepia chinese movies, just gossiping and clicking our tongues against the soft parts on the roof of our mouths while the tiak! of the tiles are cushioned by expletives that escape the sides of our lips, as our feet, my freshly painted feet, perch precariously off the floor.

roaring to the noise alongside 300 beautiful men, driving down beach road, wolfing down cold tofu (do wolves eat tofu?), eyes watering up from bak koot teh, cherryade guzzling, washing feet upon entry, stand fan-baby fan, little mouse in its little green world, of men and other men, and hands in places they shouldn’t be.

:) i’m itching to play again, please.

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pop goes the weasel

hello party people, not that thaaat wave has passed over us, everything returns to normalcy, given all this hoopla and tension it’s a real breather to just chill out and do nothing!

so today i went to pick the hufflepuff up. (FINALLY!) she says its so significant she has to blog about it in hers.
and we drove. and it was nice, just laughing.

the boy in phuket has gone missing after saying to meet him on skype. grrr.

that aside, i watched gilmore today, and teared through the end of it.
7 years, dear stef and sueann, 7 years culminates in this shit
that the new writers throw at us.

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don’t say i didn’t say

running on veh little sleep.
slept at 2 woke at 5.30 and
have not been able to go back to bed.

pls show love.

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the ship’s leaving and i’m not on it

you know those nights where you wake up and think, what am i doing? what am i doing with this life, and these hands, this heart, this head, these legs, these eyes. so much out there in the world, and yet i’m caught, in this endless web of myopic jibberjabber that pales in significant to the great many things i want to do, see, touch, taste, hear.

and then you think of friends: friends in milan, friends in india, friends in hongkong, friends in china, friends in the states, friends in UK, friends scattered everywhere, like little pins that you stick into your pin cushion globe: and you can’t help but feel a little zing at the base of your back, a little prong in your legs.

you can’t help but be happy for them, that they’re getting published in acclaimed periodicals, that they’re sending you pictures of naked david statues, that they speak a whole new language, they start sounding like the place, they call you for information about singapore because they forgot, they send you lovely lovely postcards (because they know my weakness for postcards), they send you emails of comfort over irwin’s death, they ask the “english” name for food ingredients, they want to know how to prepare a ‘popiah’ party and you find yourself mumbling at the exotic 4 am SG time about turnips.

through their eyes you’ve seen so many places, (especially my travel-blogger friend, who takes me to remote parts in cambodia and vietnam and thailand and india)–and you can’t help but feel life getting away from you.

then there are the friends who’re working, friends who have got it all, the fast cars, the ring on the finger–or soon, or rather friends who are working towards having it all, a grown up trapped in a young face. friends in banks, or kpmg or BBDO or morgan stanley or temasek or those who are running their own little thingamajigs.

and i think i’ve got a great path ahead, doing what i truly enjoy, pushing a cause i believe in and i think my life isnt that bad. i get to be that little light, that winks out once lost feet touches the stone path beneath. i’ve got it pretty good.

maybe its the wanderlust, maybe its just a subconscious dream i forgot when i woke.

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all this hoopla over what?

what a lovely feeling of being loved.

but anyways, i’ll breathe easier when thursday is over.
tonight is the last episode of gilmore girls.
the last ever episode.

i dunno whether to be happy or sad anymore.
given the terrible writers of the last season,
it does feel like a relief–
but after 7 years, i’m feeling kinda lost
not waiting for the next episode after today.

rory turned logan’s proposal down, which is a
real bummer– because they broke up in the pennultimate episode.
but its not something i did not expect really.
but really, do the writers have to end the show
on a lousy note??
lorelai and luke better get back together.

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no more talking pls

i give up.
i give up okay.

you win.

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