The sound of you sleeping

Things seem to be at a sorta lull at work; maybe it's because in the part of my life that's not-work, I'm back in the waiting game. Wait wait wait, is all I do.

Wait.

I need a trim. Sooner rather than later.

The sound of you sleeping

Actually I managed to get into a headstand via a side split without my usual spastic twitch/jerk yesterday after several tries and 1 video recording.

Today I ache - neck, shoulders, head. Was caught in the fucking traffic this morning thanks to the F(ucking)1 road closures. Some lady fainted a stop before Suntec; the rest of us (including the bus driver) gave up the wait. Those working at Suntec walked nearly one bus stop's distance to work. And you know what it looked like? A mass exodus.

But no leader to part the bloody steel (still) sea.

I dread tomorrow's commute. I'mma try my luck with the trains.

The sound of you sleeping

Somebody not in my phone book sent me a text tonight that read: Hey I remember you love the White Rabbit milk candy - remember to throw them all away!

No idea who it was, yet I was too embarrassed to ask. Here you've somebody who remembers what I like to eat, yet whose number is somehow not in my phone book?

I texted back saying I in fact have a couple of those candies left but would prolly just eat the rice-paper wrapping; whereupon the reply was a resounding "NO". So I texted I'd prolly just keep 'em as souvenirs, and got the reply, "As long as they don't end up in your mouth [...] take care!"

How sweet - and I don't even know who it was!

(Although I think there's a 75% chance it's a girl - guys don't remember such stuff.)

The sound of you sleeping

Funny how it goes: I find myself tidying up around my room as I get (more) stressed out by the tideous and obstacles-ridden task of formsformsform - as if putting things away, tidying up, physically, will somehow tidy up and put things in their places in my mind.

If only things really worked out that way ... But, no, the things in my head have to be done physically too. They're sorta like Loops of Zen - things are somehow connected; to solve the puzzle, you need logic, and to work out the knots in the right order.

Sigh.

Last pole class, then a break of one Sat (stupid F1). We learned the jazz dismount and hanging side split today - not a lot of stuff, admittedly, but some of us were still struggling with the stuff we learned in previous classes.

Am addicted to this game currently. Despite the 'Zen' in its name, I feel anything but like my name playing it.

Now attempting to solve a level 26 puzzle (my "best level ever"): ARGH.

The sound of you sleeping

So stressed out by forms. =(

I try to tell myself, they're just forms - just fill them up, submit them, and you'll get what you want ... which you will.

But I know better: Something will screw up somewhere; there are always obstacles, and Thurday's child has far to go.

Why is it so difficult?

The sound of you sleeping

I don't wanna jinx it, but I think I caught a relatively high wave - and it still being a relatively full moon and all - so I'm gonna ride it out for all it's worth, use it to get things done, put myself on course. While I can.

Likewise, these couple of days my mind has been endlessly - almost prodigiously - spewing sentences ... But always too fast for the hand to record; too fast, even to trip off the tongue or trip it.

Still, that's not gonna keep me from trying to make a note of them somewhere - never know when these oases/mirages of words/sentences start evanescing, leaving me back in my barren desert.

The sound of you sleeping

I want to be able to call you. I want to be able to knock on your door. I want to be able to keep your key and to give you mine. I want to be seen with you in public. I want there to be no gossip. I want to make supper with you. I want to go shopping with you. I want to know that nothing can come between us except each other.



Winterson, Jeanette. The PowerBook. Great Britain: Jonathan Cape, 2000.

The sound of you sleeping

This quote from Kate Bornstein's Gender Outlaw is always lurking somewhere in my mind:

But there’s always one of them who looks at you
      with longing.
And that scares you the most,
Because if you let that longing into your heart, you have to
      accept yourself
      just the way you are.

It's taken out of context, but it rings true - at least for me.

I've seen me, my secrets - skeletons I buried so deep it'd take years of excavation to unearth them - the depth and darkness I'm so susceptible to. I haven't seen all of me, but that's enough for me to realize ... I can't accept myself the way I am - and I don't think anybody should.

What scares me the most, I think, is the person I look at with longing looking back at me with the same longing ... I'm afraid for the both of us.

The sound of you sleeping

When TC found out the year I was born in, he asked, "Do you want me to introduce my brother to you? He was born in the same year as you!"

Bizarre reason, that.

I'm spring-cleaning at work. Putting aside my database for a bit today, I worked on tidying up my boss's personal file; a couple of hours tomorrow oughta be enough to complete that.

I keep remembering Doreen's (I think) words (which goes something like): Nobody is indispensible; if you are a truly efficient worker, even if you weren't around, everything will still be able to go on seamlessly.

Suppose I'm working with that now.

The sound of you sleeping

After the boss left today, the financial controller asked, "Your boss is going away for the rest of the month - will you miss him?"

I will - not that I'll ever admit to any of my colleagues that I'm really quite fond of my boss: He's the paperweight of logic and reason; without him around, the slightest breeze will cause the loose leaves of my thoughts to scatter.

The bigger and brighter the moon, the more her beauty stirs the calm surface.

The sound of you sleeping

Tonight in the park: Hordes of Chinese people (especially children) with (mostly) paper lanterns, and three Indian guys plays cricket without the benefit of wickets.

And an overweight middle-aged woman who tsked in annoyance at me when my dog ventured within 5 inches of her for a sniff: "Tsk! Why your dog liddat one?"

I heard her, even with headphones on, and I almost wanted to demand of her slighter husband (who was trailing three steps behind her), "Tsk! Why your pig liddat one?"

No, dearie - fight with a pig at her level and you'll both get dirty - and she'll enjoy it - so be good.

The sound of you sleeping

Exhausted. Something somewhere hurts ... again. But we were taught 2 other variations of the spiral and also two variations of an invert, the star.

Good practice.

I've got some patches of broken veins (I think) on my cheek bones, it seems. I can't imagine how I got them (they appeared after pole prac).

The sound of you sleeping

I don't want a pillow I want your moving breathing flesh. I want you to hold my hand in the dark, I want to roll on to you and push myself into you. When I turn in the night the bed is continent-broad. There is endless white space where you won't be. I travel it inch by inch but you're not there. It's not a game, you're not going to leap out and surprise me. The bed is empty. I'm in it but the bed is empty.



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