bel

I can't seem to breathe the free air anymore.

A little bit of me died this afternoon.

A little bit more survived.

We've all had people come and go in our lives. Some of them go, and they never come back. We watch their ships sink into the horizon. However, some of them do. And when they do, it's like having a conversation with a person you thought dead. Who the fuck are you. What have you been doing. I don't know you anymore. Please. Don't you dare talk to me, lest I contract some sort of virulent disease from wherever the hell you came from.

I hate moral righteousness. It takes two. It always does. Nobody ever has the fucking moral high ground.

But then again. It's usually my own fault for letting everything fall apart. Usually. Even when I spill a 1.5l bottle of Sprite on the countertop, I watch the stream of fizzy liquid meander its way across the tabletop for at least 5 seconds before grabbing a towel to mop it up. I'll always watch the explosion before I start screaming.


"Thank God life ends - we'd never survive it."

And really, nothing beats it, no matter how many times I say to people that "yeah, sure I could've stayed behind and it wouldn't affect my psyche" just to irk them.

I've been stuffing my face with food o glorious food and have all good intentions of losing this unsightly double chin which my sister and cousin have exaggerated over and over again. So sue me for being extremely sensitive to fat remarks.

Going to Fabric was the best night out in a long, long time. Whee.

It's no wonder girls are absolute trainwrecks these days, with song lyrics like these firmly embedded into the deepest recesses of the mind back when we were 2,3 years old.

I know you
I walked with you once upon a dream.
I know you
The gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam
Yes, I know it's true
that visions are seldom all they seem
But if I know you, I know what you'll do
You'll love me at once
the way you did once upon a dream

But the one part of me that doesn't scorn and deride romanticism and all things Disney still adores this song.

1. You're holding a dinner party and can invite three famous people from the past or present; who would they be?
- Frida Kahlo
- Elizabeth Taylor
- The one who killed John Lennon

2. You have the opportunity to question someone about something you've always wanted to know and receive a truthful answer; what would your question be?
Did God create everything, including Satan?

3. If you could change one thing in your life, what would it be?
Live a little bit more.

4. If you could save other people's lives by completing an act that would lead to your own death, would you do it?
The chivalrous answer to this would be a resounding yes. But you and I both know that these are simple words written in the English language. And words never really mean anything.

5. Would you commit murder if you knew that you could get away with it?
No. I wouldn't. Actually. Surprisingly. Maybe in a fit of explosive rage that came complete with pathetic fallacy and Jeremy Irons' voice as narrator somewhere in the back of my head, but other than that, no.

Somebody shoot me, please!

my exam is in less than six hours at 10AM. i really ought to sleep but i don't want to/can't afford to. maybe i can, but don't want to because, you know, it's just not that cool to sleep anymore until your exams are over.

talking crap = i'm tired.

Lip sync to Jay Chou
One more mundane mile to go
Home is calling me.

I can't sleep and I can't watch anymore episodes off TV links. Hence.

Samantha: Oh come on, if you're going to get a vibrator, at least get one called 'The Horse.'

Carrie: A fuck buddy is a guy you probably dated once or twice and it didn't really go anywhere, but the sex is so great you sort of... keep him on call.
Samantha: Ooo, he's like dial-a-dick!

Carrie: I'm homeless! I'll be a bag lady! A Fendi bag lady, but a bag lady!!

Samantha: Maybe there's something he can eat to make it sweeter.
Carrie: Maybe you should write to Martha Stewart.
Miranda: "Dear Martha: Funky spunk. Help."

Samantha: Ladies! Seamen, twelve o'clock!
Miranda: I pray when I turn around there are sailors, because with her, you never know.

Charlotte (to Samantha): Is your vagina in the New York City guidebooks? Because it should be - it's the hottest spot in town - it's always open.

1) I'm going home in three weeks with a face like the full moon; I'll probably create lycanthropes.

2) Herb is fur-ocious.

3) Do we all learn defeat from whores with bad feet?

Before our innocence was lost,
You were always one of those,
Blessed with lucky sevens,
And the voice that made me cry.

The number of hours in my day.

Because spending the day in bed when you have exams is such a bloody brilliant idea.

Just woke up. Bedhead hair, retainers still on and insanely paranoid about the fact that today might be 9.21AM on a Wednesday, May 23rd :P But. It's not. Thank goodness.

Life doesn't ever sort itself out. Nor will it sort itself out even if you tried. My bed and desk, for instance, are just alternate places to store this Mess. At night, I clear the bed and dump everything on the desk. During the day, I transfer everything to the bed. The Mess just doesn't go away no matter how much paper you bloody throw away.

Crunch time.

Linkin Park's new album can make me cry.

In the terrible way, not the good way.

Sigh

Wahey, I managed to readjust my body clock. Well, actually, we'll see because I slept at 9(PM!) and have just woken up from a deep, deep slumber after four hours. Work needs to be done, files cleaned up, coffee made, ill thoughts expunged. Stoicism is the way.

ok, ya, so i'm a terrible blogger i've had several blogs in my (short) lifetime, but i guess it wouldn't hurt to try and start anew with a new blog - not that i have anything of particular interest to say or do. especially during times like these when all one does is study, eat, sleep, facebloodybook (in more ways than one), breathe a bit, study again. imperial is the high class prison, as befits the name :P

haiyo.

how, how, how.

you know you're in big big brain trouble when you start to write "how" more than once in a grammatically illegal sentence.