(nov 10, 2002)

listening: foolish games jewel & melissa etheridge, born to run bruce springsteen, thunder road bruce springsteen


No coffee for two days now.

Only possible because it's fasting month. I am more groggy than hungry. Which is good. I get excited at the sight of takeout coffee cups, paper, styrofoam, regular, tall, on a bench, on the streets, in someone else's hands.

The last two days have been spent mainly on sleep. Flushing out all this caffeine over-consumption and lack of sleep since the last few weeks. It's like signing up for Betty Ford or something. With the final year exhibition safely tucked into something that I can call late last week come Monday, there's not much else to do now, academically at least. Which is marvellous.


It's beginning to hit me that my uni life is practically over. Cool. I guess. Must start scouting for new wardrobe.

Home in two months. Ah, save later for later.


This is hard, this placing your worth in someone else's hands. What if the other person is too casual with it? Or too careful? This other person could accidentally drop it, never meaning to, but still now there're all these annoying small shards to be dealt with.

My mom, when I was a young, accident-prone kid, used to tell me to be extra careful with broken glass, because a small, invisible shard can pierce through your skin without even you noticing it, then it travels through your veins, swimming in your bloodstream, until it finally reaches the heart and punctures it. Your heart could just erupt and you would never know why. I never found out if this is medically true, my ER and Chicago Hope viewings haven't confirmed this for a fact. But until today I still get slightly paranoid around broken glasses. The thought of sharp things travelling in my bloodstream unnerves me, but not as much as the thought that you can never tell if it's inside you or not.

The not knowing part. Unsettles me most. Come to think of it, this is exactly the reason why I had to spend a lot of billable hours on the shrink's couch. I can't not know. Nothing should be mysterious to me. I have to bask in the glory of revelations and epiphanies, everyday.

I don't know if I want the truth on this one, though. Maybe the invisible glass splinter can swim in my veins for a little while longer.

I'm in such a rush to get hurt.


This no-coffee thing is not really working.


previous entry: all wrong (october 21, 2002)