I hate using the phrase "We need to talk."But this time it seems inevitable. Still. I don't really know what's wrong, or what went wrong. But it's pretty clear somewhere along the line, something did. I don't know if it's a rut, or something deeper. But something needs to change, that much is obvious.I wonder if it's because I lack understanding. I try to. It's not that easy. Sometimes his passiveness frustrates me. He seems to lack motivation, passion. While he makes an effort to spend a few minutes with me, it seems as though we've just grown further and further apart. We're too busy. Work, study. In his case just the latter. He hasn't had in job in ages. So he's constantly broke. And I'm constantly buying the drinks, or dinner. I can't remember the last time I didn't. That was when we went out together. We don't anymore. That's fine, I understand. We're both busy, he's broke. "I'll get a job soon," he says. Promises. By next week. Next week becomes two weeks. Two weeks becomes next month. He's been saying that for months. And while I try to be understanding, my patience is wearing thin. We don't spend as much time together anymore. We don't stay over as much as we used to.Sometimes I tell myself he shows he loves me in other ways. He cuddles me for a few minutes, comforts me. He leaves because he has to. He's that sort of person. Alot steadier than I am, or will ever be. Alot more responsible in every sense. He says he still loves me. I know he does. So why don't I feel it? I couldn't break his heart. Not ever. And I don't want to lose him. But everything seems such a struggle now, life seems such a struggle. I just want one part of it to not be so difficult. Which is stupid really, because relationships are one of the hardest things in life. They need maintenance. And we're really doing a lousy job of maintaining ours. Conversation overheard on the train:Woman: (needling, whiny voice)Do you love me?Man: Yes.Woman: You don't say it like you mean it. Say you love me like you mean it.Man: (sighs) I love you.Woman: Like you mean it.Man: For fuck's sake woman! I fuck youse and I buy youse chips! What more do you want?*Growing up, children were as I learnt, meant to be seen and not really heard. While opinions and conversations with adults were very good and all, and the parentals prided themselves on their opinionated, verbose little girl, the fact was that whenever I put something forward that was not in line with their way of thinking, or went against society's norms, well. I wasn't shouted at for talking or anything. It just seemed to me now, everyone seemed to encourage my blabbering little mouth but no one seemed to really take what came out seriously. The conversations seemed patronizing, one sided. A child could not possibly understand the ways of the world. A child should be allowed to talk, but not form opinions that do not fit into society's thick wedge.Which is why I harbour a deep resentment when people who're older than me say things like, "You're young. What would you know?" or"You're too young to know anything."Fuck off. Generally I'm not picky about who or how old my friends are. I do however, have a problem with the ones who tell me I don't know anything because I'm young.The fear of being gunned down or laughed at was difficult when I started uni. The fact is that in a course like mine, you don't get kudos for shutting up and diligently copying everything the lecturer says. You get brownie points for challenging them, sharing your opinion with the class, questioning. I still feel some trepidation whenever I open my mouth to say something. Which I do now, and I do alot, but the hesitation always lingers somewhere in the background. The past week has been hectic. But it's slowing down this week, and things are starting to look up. So far my life is great. And I feel really contented, happy even. I barely have time for myself, work's been piling up and waiting to bend me over and have its way with me, but it's better than last week. Last week was just...I broke down a few times. It seemed as though all the effort I was trying to put it was coming to nothing, and everyone just seemed determined to put obstacles in my path. But it's better now, I think. I'm a little more settled, and I've basically accepted that the remainder of this year is going to involve a lot of running around, scurrying from one place to another, keeping appointments on time, making new ones, meeting deadlines. It's busy, but I don't have to think about the things I don't want to. The shit thing is when everything quietens down, the things I try to forget, or push to the back of my mind, pop back into my head.*Sometimes I regret the decision. More often then not. But there was nothing else to be done, and it was for the best. It was hard to see that then, and it's still difficult now. But there was no other way. I can't think about it without feeling a deep sense of melancholy. Whenever I do I just feel as though I want to retreat into my little private space, and feel it envelop me. Shit happens. I'm exhausted. Too much running around. Too many things to do. Someone said one of the courses I'm taking has a really high fail rate. It's math based. I could drop it. My math is shit despite the preconceptions that Asians are automatically good at math. But the obnoxious part of me says, challenge yourself and stop being a loser who runs away when things get difficult. Which is true. I know if I do this right, play my cards right, I should be able to pass. Maybe even get a decent grade (and decent in my books is pretty high). I've got the help I need, the boy is a math genius, all I have to do is put in heaps of effort, not fuck around or procrastinate and attend my lectures without falling asleep. I'm still apprehensive. So far I've manage to dodge failing anything, but fuck if I ever fail it's a black mark on my record. Terrified of it.I need to rant. Today I nearly reached my breaking point. I feel like I'm not in control of the things I should be in control of. I've always had the nagging urge to control what's going on in my life, and even though nothing bad is happening at the moment, I still feel a certain sort of doom awaits me in the near future. It feels as though I need a good cry, but really I have nothing to cry about. My life is good, yet frustration and restlessness plague me. I get the nagging feeling that I'm going to be searching for an answer to a question I don't know for the rest of my life. Forever restless, forever frustrated. I feel awkward, alone most of the time, helpless. Trust me, I try. I'm not whinging. To rather inaccurately quote Hobbes (the author of Leviathon, not the stuffed tiger from the comics), "life is nasty, brutish and short". Something like that. But that's in a state of anarchy. I'm not. I'm in control, for now. So I tell myself. Whatever I can't control, is out of my ability to. So if what I can't control but want doesn't eventuate, it doesn't. All I need to do is find out why and do something about it. The problem is I start questioning myself. My competence, my intelligence, everything.I don't know anything anymore. I need to let something out but I don't know what it is. I need to find an answer but I don't even know the question. It's all so confusing, so blurry. Lately the number of people leaving the blogosphere seems to have increased. Like any other trend that has hit the masses, its climax has passed and it now fades away into oblivion. Or something else. Maybe it's just those I read who decide to leave.Which makes me think; perhaps I too should leave. Lately my blogging has become more and more sporadic, the words that I write seem sparse and meaningless, endless hours of regurgitating other people's thoughts to suit the powers that be of academia have robbed me of free intellect. Well, no, not really. The truth is I haven't had the time to blog. I have had too much work to do when university was in session, but now that I'm enjoying a well deserved break, I don't really have much to say. I have been too caught up in my life. I have been too busy living.* Or not living. Whatever you want to call it.But I won't be giving up this blog. Not yet. I've still got a few issues to deal with. And despite my lack of attention towards it, I still feel as though I'm not quite ready to stop blogging. The problem now is trying to express my thoughts articulately. So far I seem to be failing miserably. Most of what I write never gets published. They don't seem quite succinct enough. Which makes me wonder if I really should continue blogging. The whole point was to start expressing myself and not bother about whether anyone else thought I was a good writer or not. It seemed like a good idea. But to someone as self-consicous as I, sooner or later the fact that real people read this, and form opinions about them start to affect what I put in, what I don't put in. Which just throws the whole purpose of blogging off; I don't write for other people. I write for me. And I should. But I cannot escape from the fact that my personality flits between extreme self consciousness and reckless disregard. And when it comes to the latter, it's usually at the time when I write the most.*For some reason as I typed this, I thought of Indy. It sounds like something he would say, or has said. Have been spending the past few days locked in a haze of cigarettes, coffee and candy, my ever-faithful study companions. I feel like I should go shopping sometime soon, or do something soon. Something relaxing. Something I really enjoy. It'll be nice to have just a quiet day of walking around, buying pretty things for myself. Unfortunately I don't have the cash to do that, because work isn't going so well at the moment. I'm thinking the time has come for a job change. I have decided that for the rest of my life, I am to exist in a permanent state of confusion. Part of life, I've decided, is accepting who and what you are; and I have accepted that deep deep down, I am an intrinsically fucked up girl. I have no idea how or why; I just am. Actually I have some vague idea, but part of me thinks, "That's it?" Worse things have happened to others. Does it take so little to essentially screw me over? Maybe I'm just one of those with a weaker mind or something. But that's an easy excuse and one I'm not going to accept. For fuck's sake One fine day not so long ago, I thought to myself, "Hell maybe I'll do an arts degree. Whatever's not Math or Science related." Considering I'm a major 'tard at both. Since I'm not exactly the brightest apple in the basket, but for some reason have this wonderful gift of being able to bullshit my way around words because words are so open to interpretation while numbers are not, I've pretty much been a happy camper without any math to bother me. My calculator has remained at the bottom of my desk drawer, with an inch of dust happily resting on it, quite undisturbed. Intending to remain so till the end of my days.Until this year. Fucking Statistics. Fucking compulsory core subject that should have come with a warning sign about the statistical content but didn't. Fucking Statistics subject masquerading as an Arts major. Fucking unhelpful textbook with stupid statistical terms. Fuck you. I hate you. You're going to fail me because you're so mathematical and I'm freakishly slow at math. Fuck you. Die already. Excuse me while I run off and continuously beat my calculator against my head until the numbers decide to magically appear in my head. I have no nose Amazing how something as simple and common as the flu can make you feel like you want to die. Right now my eyes are watery, I can't breathe through my nose because it feels like a group of midgets have decided to set up a colony in there, can't open my mouth to breathe because contact with air hurts my throat, which feels so much like a cheese grater I'm sure if I went down on the boyfriend he'd pull his dick out to find it bleeding and half gone. Also my glands are swollen, my head hurts, and the head cold is making my ears feel like they're going to very painfully go 'pop' and squirt out blood in a few seconds.There, I'm done with whinging about being sick. In the meantime I'll continue to not get enough sleep because I've got a pile of shit that needs to get done, and a whole heap of friends to pay attention to. A song for Expat For my darling Expat. Stuck. I'm lost. Or stuck. Knowing me, both. No direction, the words that seem to pour so fluently out of my mouth as I articulate my thoughts to the world beyond seem to escape me when I try to pen them down. Now I have a fat stack of notes and realible references, with quite a few credible intellectuals to back up my arguments but the words..the words for some reason refuse to manifest themselves.The pressure really mounts up. I want to do well for this, by far it's my favourite subject, but by far also my most difficult. There is no black and white, just so many shades of grey you turn crosseyed looking for the correct one, if such exists at all. Whatever I write, whatever I have written so far seem lacklustre, unintelligent, unworthy of a good, let alone decent mark. Whomever I can get to read it has gone somewhere else, everybody's out having a good time, I'm stuck at home, glued to my chair, struggling to keep my demons away, struggling to find inspiration in the midst of all this banality. Sometimes I look back on my past and wonder what it says about me. The things I've done to people, the things people have done to me. All the really beautiful moments that make me smile, tinged with a heavy sense of melancholy, the deep regrets, the fear, the shame, having to deal with my fears coming through. I have abandonment issues. It took me awhile to realize that I actually do, that despite me swaggering around like I'm an independent, modern woman who needs noone but herself, I have abandonment issues.Funny really. You'd think I'd have come to terms with it earlier. After all, it's not as if I haven't done my fair share of abandoning. Not really abandoning, really, I can't really say I've had that done to me. Or done that to someone. But close. When someone leaves you, you feel abandoned. Not just by a mere physical being, but by the hopes built together, and all the conversations on future plans that you so looked forward to. All those, leaving you in the dark. Abandoning you. Or maybe, that's just me and my issues. Contemplated doing an all nighter tonight, just to catch up with work. A little after eleven started feeling sleepy, now I just feel beyond tired. I don't want to sleep. The silence of the night brings about a sort of serenity, something my life has been lacking of late. Too much thinking about work, mechanical, bland thoughts, lacking substance, lacking emotion, too little me time. Wasn't it the opposite not too long ago? Too much me time, too much thinking about things I shouldn't have thought about, too much emotion. Just messy. I'd like to say I tried my best. I think a part of me even believes it. Sort of. But it's a simple, delusional belief, and everyone tries to justify their mistakes in secret. Think part of maturing is accepting when you've made mistakes. And I have. Good things have come out of it, but in a way, I can't help but look back with a heavy sense of melancholy. It was such a beautiful thing really, shame I chose to give it up. I got back something else, something just as beautiful, but you can never really beat the original. Truthfully part of me feels guilty for even contemplating such a thought, but it really is true. The first never really leaves. They always stay, lingering in your memory. You catch a glimpse in the crowd, for a split second, then they're gone and suddenly your whole life is filled with memories once again.I'd like to keep only the good ones now. I'd like to live for awhile in a little world, a world where everything's beautiful and perfect, with butterflies and flowers. I like flowers. Never got enough of them. People usually sent me flowers at bad times. To say I'm sorry. They're pretty but it's too late. The damage's been done, really why bother harking on what's over? I mean, they're nice, and they're pretty and I like that you chose them for me, but why now. Why ever. The first time in my life I received flowers was when someone left me. Since then I've always associated them with that. I have dreams of getting left. I wake up at night sobbing, because someone I loved just left me. Abadonment issues. Really. Shame, I've done my fair share of leaving.I'm contented now, with what I have. I could close my eyes and sleep, no worries. I feel at peace. Calm. Serene. Must be the scented oils I've been burning. Scrabble Have just found out that all the arse raping I have been copping on Scrabblous or whatever the fuck that Scrabble application on Facebook is called has been for naught. At first I thought it was because I had a shitall vocab. Then I found out, following a sheepish confession by the boyfriend, that he had been cheating. And when I ranted about this to a group of friends they all laughed at me and said everyone did it. Used some program to give them awesome long words that would maximise their scores. Bastards! Is there no integrity left in this world? Fuck fuck fuck fuck! Completely burned out. Too much work, too little time, social commitments not important but necessary to ensure networking (actually because I'm the Queen of Procrastination and drinking at the pub is more attractive than a night of being chained to the desk and being an uber nerd*) but means I have less time for homework, work hell because I've got more than I bargained for because some tardy little wanker decided to quit without notice before declaring in her whiny little voice, "I'm not coming back this week so you guys can just take up whatever work I've left unfinished", whinge whinge fucking whinge.At some point in time I'm going to reach my boiling point and go Gordon Ramsey on everybody. But right now...right now I need a fucking strong drink, a hug, and a contraption that stops time.*So you see it's actually my own fault that I've got heaps of work to do tonight. I realize that..I'm not a complete idiot. Therefore I should accept responsibility for my actions and just lie on the bed I've made. Which I will...at some point in time. Went out yesterday with the girls and boys to get my boogie on. Per usual when there's dancing involved, the boyfriend does not tag along on the basis that "I dance like a spastic sea monkey real men don't dance." Phhft. Bollocks. If the boy can get jiggy with a gay man I don't see why he won't dance with me, but some surreal sixth woman's sense is telling me that if he were to actually get on the dance floor I'd prolly run away and hide in the loo from embarrasment.Anyhoo, after my feet started hurting from wearing killer hot heels, and I was way too drunk to be coordinated I decided to bugger off and meet him somewhere in the city, where he was drinking with some people. Including Vibrator Girl. Turns out I actually quite like the chick. She's cool. Probably paid too much attention when we started fraping (face-raping) each other by continuously telling us to get a room, but she's cool and I like her. Not quite sure if I'm still cool with the whole buying-her-a-vibrator debacle, but well, at least now that I've met her and actually like her I'm not so squawky about it. Well, some part of it still nags at me but I don't know. Should be fine. I trust the man to not do anything untoward behind my back. He's too scared of me and my scissors.It just came to me then, as I was typing this up I probably blog too much about my man candy. But I really don't care. My life beyond that is just too redundant to blog about. Studying, sleeping, going to the gym, nearly falling off the treadmill because I was too distracted by all the men with hotsome bodies pumping iron, perving at the hotsome men with their hotsome bodies at the gym, and just being generally boring and bitty. It's only when the boy turns up that I turn into this creature that falls over non-existent cracks in the sidewalk and accidently punches herself in the face. Sex Am getting sick of people interrupting my sexual adventures. Knocking on my door, calling my mobile incessantly, tapping on my windows. Fuck off people, I'm getting my bat cave cleaned out!'S bad enough they interrupt you when you're getting it on, after they go "Oi, what're you doing?" and you reply "I'm having sex" they go "Oh....insert long fucking arse pause here>... do you have a pen I can borrow/can I use your printer/do you have the lecture notes for yesterday's lecture?"Fucking hell!*Have decided I hate the following people and if possible, would like to throw squishy things at them:-people who stand around in groups on the main sidewalk, where everyone's rushing off to get from one class to another, but this one particular group loves standing in the middle of the path and spreading out so they block everyone's way while they chatter and giggle like Japanese schoolgirls about to star in their first home made porno.-people who dominate discussions during class. The ones who always think what you say isn't valid because you're not as smart as they are, so whenever you offer an opinion, they go, in their most condescending voice ever, "I hate to correct you but you're wrong. It's not like that...blah blah blah..." Stuff a fucking sock in it already you noxious sea fungus. Even in discussions where things like "the right answer" don't exist. I don't care if they're just talking, or whatever, everyone has the right to voice an opinion but I just really despise the way everything you say is wrong, and everything they say is right. Anal retentive much.I'm pretty sure I have a longer list stashed about somewhere, but it seems I've been suffering from short term memory loss these days. Possibly from the major head banging I sustained during my last bedroom romp. The medical industry is driving me broke What's the point of paying through my bloody nose till I start looking like Michael Jackson overdosing on coke, for medical insurance when I keep getting bills despite waving my medical card at the overweight pachyderm who mans the registration counter at the nearest hospital? All due to one stupid hospital visit, now I'm a few hundred bucks short. Hopefully the insurance covers it, but I'm waiting till my next pay cheque comes, as well as the next invoice for the couple more visits I had to have, so I can just bloody well blow all my hard earned moolah on all the medical care I had to go through.Hate it though. I thought the insurance was supposed to take care of this. It bloody well took care of private health care, why can't it do the same for public? Or maybe it runs on something different, I don't fucking know, all I know is that I'm going to have to give up a few shopping trips and some alcomohol so I get to pay my bills on fucking time. If the insurance covers it, we're sweet but I'm not too optimistic about that after having dealt with the petulant, sulky receptionist at the insurance office, with her bored manner and overly-dyed dry-as-a-cornfield-in-a-draught hairdo. Holy fuckamole I am smoking way too much than is good for me. Or at least, giving away way too many darts to a whole heap of cheap scabbers who have the resources and money to get their own but for some reason (ie the presence of overly generous people like me who cheerfully give away darts and then kick themselves when they realize they're down to the last pack in the carton) do not. Am getting sick of it. For every dart I grill, I give at least one away. Sometimes two,if cheap scabber has an equally cheap scabbing friend. The boyfriend is no better, when people ask me for a cig, then pull a face because they don't like what I smoke and then ask him for one. Fuck you, beggars can't be choosers. I really want to keep track of how much I'm smoking, just so I know whether to cut down or not. I think I will anyway. The less I'm outside hammering another nail into my coffin, the less people will see me out there and demand cigarettes like cuckoobirds. So will start by not bringing cigarettes to lectures, so instead of having a cheeky smoke in between, I'll just wonder around and sit in a nice sunny spot on the grass and read the Economist whilst sipping juice. Clueless Swear to God and all his minions and little harp playing cherubins, sometimes my boyfriend is the most clueless person ever!A few days ago, the boyfriend and I parted ways for a night of drunken debauchery. Just because we're shagging doesn't mean we have to go out together all the time, plus I wanted a night out with my girlfriends for some good ol' fashioned man-bashing and he was being sociable and going out drinking with his manager and colleagues.So he came back drunk, I came back drunk, despite our solemn vows to spend the night apart we ended up in the same bed anyways. 'Cause we like cuddling and shit before sleeping, and waking up together and kissing each other good morning with our rancid morning breath, and I especially love being woken up by something hard poking me in my lower back.The next day, as he nursed his hangover while I pranced around like a nimble little wood elf (hangovers don't plague me unless I've been having a night with my good friend, Jack Daniels), he told me about a female colleague whom he had just met the night before, and who asked him to buy her a vibrator less than an hour after they had just been introduced."Huh," says I and thinks nothing of it.An hour later, I thought about it. I thought it was weird. Weird that a girl would ask someone she's just met for less than an hour to buy her a vibrator. He said she was too shy to do it herself. I was thinking, Well if she's so shy, how come she's got the ballses to ask a near stranger to buy her one? It's weird right? Or at least, I think it's weird.Then I started to feel uncomfortable. And started wriggling around in my seat. I felt like it was just weird. And the warning bells were going off in my head. And I'm not usually a suspiscious girlfriend, and I like to think I'm pretty relaxed about our relationship, but I felt uneasy about this. So I pulled him aside and said something."Wow. I was actually going to do it. I don't think it's weird at all."*cue a little version of me screaming in my head while I stared at him, completely loss for words*I think it's weird. My girlfriends think it's weird. Why doesn't he? Well, not weird weird, but just well...it's not a nice feeling. It's just uneasy.He thought I was overeacting. Or something. Because it's completely normal for a chick you've just met to ask you to buy her a vibrator without any intentions. Well, possibly without intentions. Hell it could be totally innocent, but I wouldn't know. I still think it's weird. Even though she knows he has a girlfriend. I mean, I really don't know how other girlfriends would feel about it. Maybe I'm overeating. I'd like to think I'm not. Whingefest Sort of seems like as the warmer weather slips away and the shit-to-do list grows longer, my temper is getting shorter. Have spent the last few days being a moody passive-aggressive harridan, but everytime I try to articulate my thoughts they seem to evaporate. And I'm left with a blank canvas and no picture to paint. It's all been bottling up since. Fuck.It's not so much the weather. Or the work. Fuck I can handle both. Or even the fucking whatever sickness that resulted in me being dragged kicking and screaming to the nearest emergency department at some god forsaken hour.Seriously. I have heaps to say and at the same time, nothing. What's the fucking point, really? The people who're supposed to listen don't. I don't mean my boyfriend, or those I call my best friends. The people who've started making me angry by their callousness, their indifference. Really. Why say more? They don't care. Part of me is starting to feel like they never did. Once upon a time. In a land far far away where the princess always meets her Prince Charming and they all fucking live happily ever after, yeah they cared. But now it feels like they never did. Blame me for feeling this way why don't you. It's always my fault, isn't it, it's like I'm always the fucking incapable one.No regrets. Fuck that for a joke. I'm starting to regret everything now. Is it a terrible thing to say? Perhaps. But I'm angry. I don't deserve this. I tried to be understanding. Sometimes that only gets you so far. But guess what? I really can't say anything because it'll fall on deaf ears. Because I don't fucking matter anymore. It's fine if I didn't matter as much as before that's fine, but to throw total indifference my way? Fuck you.Wish I could say I don't care anymore. I'm trying not to. Because I don't have the time or energy to hate you, I'd just rather be as indifferent as you are. It won't matter what I am anyway, because you won't notice. Hell I could shout at you and you wouldn't even care. You'd just deny everything anyway. Because you can't take criticism. That anything that doesn't sing hosannas to your name is immediately deemed rubbish. Unworthy.I was upset at first. Then I got angry. I'm just beyond angry now. Once I get over this, once this whole stupid thing grows cold, once I bury it in the past together with all my other fucking mistakes and the memories I don't care for, then don't you worry. I'll be fucking fine. I'm a lot stronger than what you think. There isn't enough room in this sphere for all our egos. There're too many of them out there. Eventually you just let yourself fade from the picture, whether they notice or not....part of you hopes they do. Another part pretends not to care. Moves towards indifference. The past is the past. Long buried. Lesson learnt, let's move on to the next fucking chapter. Pick better friends next time. God I'm getting old. Sat outside today with a friend, both of us smoking cigarettes and being generally morose, as people who realized they're on the road to becoming fossils are wont to do. All the new people who've come in; they look so young, so damn young and innocent and fresh. They just look fresh. I feel old, and jaded, and used. Past my expiration date. Something like that. I went out clubbing and came home too early, complaining of exhaustion and a need to wake up early the next day even though I didn't have class. But it was just an excuse. I've lost all taste for the crowd, for sweaty, strange bodies pushing me around while I wiggle my way through to get drinks. So I just came home, gave the boy a booty call and had mindblowing godawesome sex until we both collapsed, tired, sweaty and satiated as pie.*When I lie next to him in bed, in the dark, before we sleep, and he has his arms around me, I don't get the feeling that everything wrong is going to be alright soon. I used to get such warm tingly feelings, made me feel like cotton candy was being made in my tummy. Now I just feel like yeah, he's there, and he's holding me, and some things in my life are wrong, and others are going to go wrong, and everything's not going to be alright because life is just so goddamned anarchic. So no, everything's not going to be alright. But he'll be there when they aren't. And he'll still be holding me. And I'll be alright. And when I'm alright, I'm good to go. I can deal with all that crap. He won't make things right for me because he says I'm a big girl and I should be able to handle my own thing. And I'm aware of all that stupid problems when he's holding me, I know they're there, and I don't know if everything is going to be alright, but at least he'll be there to listen when I need to rant and he'll hold my hand and stfu when I need him to just hold my hand and stfu. I felt like I should have something to say; but apparently I don't. It's Steak and Blowjob Day, have got it all planned out, hopefully nobody fucks up and the boyfriend doesn't accidently punch me in the face again.* Am I not blogging 'cause I'm happy? Maybe. I'm also busy. I've got cases to analyse, essays to write, six fucking assignments that are worth more than my anal virginity due in the same week and a boyfriend to sexually please. It's all very chop chop. And then there's work, social commitments, all the wasted time sitting outside like a social pariah while furiously sucking on a cigarette, gym, more sex. I have absolutely no free time to sit around and let my mind rot. Which is a good thing because I stop thinking about the bad things that turn me into the pathetic, snivelling whinging brat that I become when I have too much time on my hands. Which is also a bad thing because I start to lose my temper and my patience way too easily, and start abusing and swearing incessantly at everything that deigns to thwart me and my ever growing list of things to do.*I decided for some reason that only my inebriated mind could comprehend, it would be an aboslutely marvellous idea to bite him. And then shake my head from side to side like a shark while I had his flesh betwixt my small but sharp teeth. So he tried to push my head away but ended up accidently smacking me in the face instead. The honeymoon period is definitely over. It'll be interesting to see how this plays out. I want it to work out, definitely, but if it doesn't happen then...I don't know. What can you do. I don't notice stuff. I like to think I'm observant, and notice things, like that man wearing a plastic sheet around his bare bottom and taking a bath in the public fountain, or the man who fell asleep and had a bread roll inserted into his plumber's crack. But I don't notice people noticing me.Which is why when those bigots out there on the street throw dirty looks at my boyfriend and I, sorry, I didn't notice you there, looking at me like I was some cheap slut just because I'm not holding hands with someone who has the same colour skin as I do. Nor did I notice you glaring at my boyfriend like he was Satan himself, for seducing me away from those of my race. Didn't even notice until he says something, because he's more observant than I am, more of a people watcher. Fuck off. I've had enough of people like you.I heard somewhere, someone said, I forgot who, anyway, someone said, "Interracial couples seem to have a chip on their shoulder."Of course we do. It's because people like you throw us dirty looks. Look at us like we're less than human, like we're dirt under your feet. Look at me like I'm betraying my culture, I'm selling out my people. Look at him like he's evil incarnate. Fuck off. You're not scaring us, but you sure as hell are irritating the shit out of me. When I was fifteen a pyschiatrist told the parentals I think like someone in her early twenties.Now that I'm in my twenties I think like a fifteen year old. My liver hates me Ugh. Friend's 21st yesterday. Ingested enough alcohol to massacre an army. Feel delicate now, despite not throwing up even though the CB, as drunk as I was, offered to hold my hair back if I needed to. Might have scared him off though, as he buggered off this morning. Or it could be the fact that we've spent two weeks continuously in each other's company and we're both starting to miss our personal space.Certain chapters in my life need to be closed. And probably for the best, burned. There's no point in hoping for uncertainty, or thinking about something that's not going to happen. Rather, moving on is better for everyone. And for me. I need to move on. I need something new, to start fresh, to not think too much. There are certain parts of my life I don't care to remember, but you can't really push memories away, they keep coming back. The best part is to get over them, and not let them affect you anymore. As long as I remain indiffierent to them, eventually they'll stop plaguing me.So long as I keep myself busy, and not have the time or energy to think about the past or an uncertain future I can never have, I'll be fine. There are times I wonder if I did it for the appeal. The lure of deviating away from everything I was brought up to avoid, as I had been doing since I left home. I didn’t think then, not long and hard, a little, but enough to know it was too good to be true, and that it would one day end; nothing lasts forever, this wouldn’t.Maybe I was a fool for thinking that it would. Just this one. With this one I was a different person. I was really happy. Just happy. And everything else didn’t seem to matter so much. Now I’m back to where I was. Chasing ghosts. I found myself, I lost her. So I’m back to looking. Some things you can only have once. I think that was one of those things.People say in time, wounds heal. Everything will get better. Blah blah blah. Spare me the diatribes. I tell myself that all the time. All I have to do is believe them. Saying is easier than believing. I don’t believe. Not anymore.I notice mixed couples when I see them. Trust you to notice such things, my cousin said when I point it out. I notice because I was part, am part, of an inter-racial relationship. I dated Asian boys back in high school. Then I left, and decided I didn’t want to date them anymore. I’m not a self hating Asian. I’m proud to be Asian. I love my yellow (brown actually, am tanned) skin, and my dark hair, and whatever else it is that makes me Asian. But I don’t want to date Asian boys anymore. Now I wonder if that preference is me, running away from my past, my previous choices, trying to push away a teenagehood I didn’t really enjoy.I don’t have any answers. I wish I did. I’m very confused now, but I’ve always been confused. I’ve always been trying to fit in, always trying to find a place to call home. Right now all I want to do is not cry anymore. Not hurt anymore. I’m tired, and I’ve been tired for a long time. Sometimes I see an old memory, flash across my mind like an image from an old projector slideshow. And I smile. But it’s just a memory.No matter how much I beg, or say sorry, it doesn’t change anything. I need to move on. I need this. I need to not let anyone break me again. Promises made in the past…I can’t hold on to them. Not anymore. If they don’t come true, it’d only make me worse than I am now. More broken. I can’t cling on to something in the past because…when you expect less of something, and it doesn’t come true, then at least you’re not so disappointed, and you’ve sort of mentally prepared yourself for it, but when you put high hopes in something uncertain, something careless, when it fails…then it feels like everything ends right there. I feel like I have a lot to say and then I don't. I don't have anything to say for the time being because I don't feel anything. Sometimes I feel sad, but at the same time I feel detached from myself, so I don't really feel anything. Mostly I just go through the motions, I've become numb. I watch things happen around me with a sort of detached interest, but I don't react towards anything, or say anything. I just watch, and my mind is completely blank. It doesn't even form secret opinions, doesn't judge. Just sits back, completely apathetic, completely numb, completely passive. At least, until I feel better. I know there's a fire burning somewhere inside there, but for now, just for the moment, I'm fine with apathy. It's a reaction I guess, I've done this before, so I know what to expect. "When you feel your heart breakYou're learning those blues."-Learning the Blues: Frank Sinatra-I’ll be okay….I think. I’m not sure, but I think I should be okay. I’m a big girl now, and big girls can take care of themselves. And I managed to get through today without resembling a leaky faucet for the first time in ages. So it’s slow, tiring, and frustrating. But I’ve done this before. Enough to know I’m not going to heal permanently, that every spurt of happiness is just a temporary relief, but getting to those periods…. it’s like crossing the desert and reaching an oasis. And another later on. Being able to reach these oases will be fine by me. Just looking forward to the next one and struggling along the way, but ultimately, every time I manage to reach one, that will be a small accomplishment for me. Just a small one. But it’ll be worth it. I've asked myself this before, many times, "If I disappear, who will notice?"Until now I still don't know the real answer to that. Sometimes I feel like I should. Just disappear. Start over, somewhere new, somewhere strange. Ditch the past, and all its memories, and just start creating new ones in a new place where no one knows me, or knows my past. You can't really run away though, you just pretend you can, but unless you get amnesia, you can't really.Still, it's a tempting thought.