The sound of you sleeping

Impulse is a dish best served steaming hot; distance is a deterrent to that.

Doesn't matter whether you're four or five hours ahead of me (and I behind you), the journey will still take over half a day (if you factored in the time spent waiting in-transit). The steam wafting from the hot dish will dissipate long before it arrives at its destination; time will cool it.

This much I'd been thinking about today.

However, the desire, the longing - the skeleton beneath the cooling, singed flesh - remains. Untouched.

... in this single bed, between these garish sheets, I will find a map as likely as any treasure hunt. I will explore you and mine you and you will redraw me according to your will. We shall cross one another's boundaries and make ourselves one nation. Scoop me in your hands for I am good soil. Eat of me and let me be sweet.



Winterson, Jeanette. Written on the Body. London: Vintage, 1993.

The Frames - 'Rise'

Album: The Cost



So angry at myself for missing my dad's flying off to India today, a day like every Sunday I spent cooped up in my room. Why? Because there's blessed air-conditioning and my laptop. Haven't been pulling my weight around the house.

So. Mad. At. Myself.

I sure hope it's PMS and/or the full moon. I'm alternatively homicidally frustrated and suicidally miserable.

Having to go to work isn't helping; on the contrary, it's possibly both root and exacerbation.

The Frames - 'Lay Me Down'

Album: Here Comes The Night



I know I said I wanted a quiet, early Saturday evening with no drinks and dance, but after Rach left before dessert even arrived, Praveen'd made known he finally broke his dry spell, and we had to celebrate that.

We had the buy-5-get-1-free shooters promotion - 3 B52s (for him) and 3 Cock Sucking Cowboys (he ordered for me =/) - and a gin-and-tonic each at Via Mar. Then satay at Gluttons' Bay.



But at the end of it all, I wish I could fall asleep with you, skin to skin, beside me.

A not-so-good week.

So glad it's ended.

Parachute Express - 'Butterfly'

Album: Sunny Side Up



Scents are a strange thing. I can recall your scent - it brings to mind a pale golden hue, the color of honey water (which is what you smell like to me) - but I can't smell it; the memory of it doesn't trigger the memory of the scent of it ... if that makes any sense (and I think it doesn't).

Spinning could be an analogy of sorts. For beginners, if you started too fast, you'll overshoot and topple; but if you started slow and steady, you wouldn't have enough momentum to complete a spin, or more. Hard to find that all elusive balance ... except, maybe, through hard work and practice.

The Frames - 'Lay Me Down'

Album: Here Comes The Night



Strangely calm and restless. Is that possible?

Saw a dead cat on the road this morning from inside the bus. It was such a sad sight - gray tabby, lying right in the middle of two lanes, some blood. And I have to wonder: What is it about dead anything that makes me so squeamish?

I wish I could devote at least three hours every day to dance practice.

Another fruitless day at work.

Exhaustive.

The sound of you sleeping

I'm just so ... frustrated, and irritated today; I'm on the verge. Must be PMS.

Must. Control.



Addendum: Also the weather. The weather. I abhor Singapore's weather.

The sound of you sleeping

A little tired, and very, very, very achey.

Oh boy, the day will start early tomorrow.

=/

The sound of you sleeping

Signed up for street cha cha cha making it a grand total of four classes per week. I want to squeeze cello in as well.

Suicidal?

The Frames - 'Star Star (Pure Imagination)'

Album: Set List



I'm really too old for this - two classes a day and a long night.

Pasta at Al Dente Trattoria is horrible enough that I actually prefer my own bottled-pasta-sauce version. It was that bad. Dessert from Da Paolo made up for a miserable dinner.

For the next two weeks, I'd really prefer a quiet dinner, desserts, and drinks. There's no fucking way I'm going to any club.

Tired, hungry, and falling apart ...

=(

Prolly down with something from yesterday's downpour, fever or flu - one of those.

But, oh Goddess, it's gonna be such a long day tomorrow if I decided to attend the party at Gotham, not to mention the crazy rush from one studio to another, going from class to class.

Oh girl, whatcha gonna do?

Dennis Cahill & Martin Hayes - 'The Clare Reel'

Album: Welcome Here Again



After he got into the office, Mephisto sat me down for a talk. I was feeling totally useless at that point (can't manage even the simplest tasks, need boss to step up to it) and he knew it from the call we were on earlier this morning.

He said I shouldn't be feeling pressured or stressed because "you're not paid enough for that", and if I hit a block, I should sic him on the obstacle - he'll take care of it. He told me I was doing a good job and "you have a lot of potential". (Potential for what, he didn't say; my guess: Catastrophe.)

I appreciate the effort, but ...

Anyhow, he also told me about perfection - it's less obscure than 42.

Watching me sign a document, Mephisto commented I'm an optimist - "a fan".

"Of what?" I asked. "I'm not a fan."

"Maybe you need to become a fan of something," said he.

Moments earlier, he'd pulled the hoodie of my jacket over my head, half in mock-exasperation with me. Had he been a friend or relative, it would've been an affectionate, friendly move; but he's the boss - more specifically, my boss.

So ... I'm nonplussed.