Still Season 6
So one by one, they turn from me
I guess my friends can't face the cold
But why I froze, not one among them knows
And never can be told. *


Where there's life
There's hope
Every day's
A gift
Wishes can
Come true
Whistle while
You work
So hard
All day

To be like other girls.

To fit in in this glittering world.**

*from 'Walk Through The Fire' , Buffy S06E07, Once More With Feeling
**from 'Somethng to Sing About' , Buffy S06E07, Once More With Feeling

why is everyone bothered by terrorism? isn't this what the world does? it tells you, 'do exactly as i say or die!'

I can only hope you read this. Because since you disappeared there has been no one to talk to. Those spare sentences we exchanged helped. But now I have to do this alone. That was rather my decision, but I do wish I had decided otherwise.

i feel that i can say anything here because you'd never find it. you're like way up there beyond me. you're like a cloud - flimsy and easily discorporated.

Well, there's your season ender. Bye-bye to you who wil never read this. Goodbye, it's been swell and out of my league. Enjoy the rest of your day.

better here
well now i'm glad about where i am, and what i do. and no, you can't convince to step back into either the academe or the publishing world.

i'm good here. (or else i will get into welding, or making cottage cheese, or raising ducks).

goodness! this thing is still here?? it's been more than thirty days of radio silence and this is still undeletable. well, more time to gather up the bits and pieces to move to the hard drive away from prying eyes.

what dries
that messed-up feeling you've been getting? it's called dehydration. that other messed-up feeling is from eating more carbs than you, you person with desk job and too many hours spend commuting, actually need. that third messed-up feeling is when you try to read books you read for school.

tried listening instead yesterday, but then BAAM! just like that, i was off to sleep. that shakespeare guy's books, taken out of his academic contexts, sounds like a lot of English people talking way too fast for my lower-middle class asian brain to understand. it's far, far too clever for me.

i'm sticking (predictably) with my Charlaine Harris for now.

I had a whole bunch of thoughts i was going to post the other day. And now they're gone. No big, I suppose. But I was hoping to come up with some coping strategies, so that when they surface again I'll be ready.

Maybe I applied the coping strategy I've been using the past few months. When things take a dark turn, I just think of that scene in Watchmen where New York and several key cities are blasted into atoms by Dr. Manhattan's powers, or of the final scene in 30 Days of Night where Eben turns to ash as first light hits him, or of that scene in LSH issue 5 where the world goes white after Mon-El destroys the Time Trapper, or even that scene in that show where the reality bomb atomises a few human subjects.

But I love that scene in 30 days of Night best.

normal again
Hello LJ. And so it appears that twitter does not suffice for all my needs.

I wish I were the kind of person who didn't need an outlet, who can just survive on twitter.

But here I am again writing in my LJ. It's not as cool as it used to be. Oh, go suck it. Obviously I am still think in terms of what's cool and what's not. You probably have different terms for it bet you still somewhat think in the same way.

I'm writing here again because (the most pathetic thing to write - "I am writing here because") the me I think myself to be is so far from the me I actually am. (Oh slay me now, you are so pathetic.) No, really. I've read this somewhere, during my time as a psychology major. It's the gap between what one experiences and what one thinks, or the gap between one's schemata and one's reality that causes all this mental disturbance. And looking across all these dating profiles on the net (particularly on that site which shall not be mentioned here), you, I see how the profile I would like to put there is so far from the profile which would actually be written, if I wrote the truth. I lie even as I speak. I lie even as I write. I'm mostly lies and nothing else. This is probably even a lie.

I feel like a religious bastard writing "I wish there were some cold hard fragment of truth in me that I could at least feel proud of". Like something solid and real and you could rest your head on. But no, there's nothing. (This is probably a lie.)

Maybe it's that everything I do seems...or a lot of the things I would normally, naturally do run counter my stature in life. (Hahaha, that's a funny thing to say, and also funny because translated that would so sound struggling lower-middle/lower-lower class). But if I were to do the things befitting my stature in life, then gosh that would just be so boring. It would be boring to the lie that is me that is thinking/writing this right now.

There are no solutions. No immediate solutions to this. Perhaps one good thing is that my work is focused on finding solutions to problems. (Unlike what i used to do before, which was just about talking about problems - oh whatever, I still don't quite know what that was supposed to be. It was clear before too many people started talking. It was clear when it was just May and Martin talking).

Later I will head off to work. (Should I say head on to work?) and do a fraction of a fraction of work. An ounce of work to keep things going (But everything else is going nowhere).


Log in

No account? Create an account