Fuzz

Fuzz. That's what my head feels like this morning.

It's been a while since I've had nightmares.

I usually drift off to sleep relatively uncomplicated and just blank out until dawn. Or at least until the sun rises up a little higher in the sky.

But last night. Was. Odd.

I opened my eyes in a slight panic, sweaty in my pjs, wide awake with the oddity of it all and wondering what the hell the dream was all about.

I sat there this morning after getting dressed, in no real mood to have breakfast, wondering and puzzling over it all. It was a weird dream and for the life of me, I have no idea why things came together like that. I sat there for a good 10 minutes, I must say, trying to remember. I see bits and pieces of it. Scattered but there but not good enough for me to form a story. Or at least write out the outline.

I'll try and make a bit more sense of it later. But all I really want to do is to type it out right now, puzzle over it and try and perhaps even get you readers to make sense of it.

But of course, I am at work and have a free slot. So this is what I'm doing.

***

Was talking to Tofupuff and apparently, my new blog isn't as good as the old one. The comparison was made between Original Recipe KFC and Hot and Spicy. I guess its just a preference thing.

But I personally think that my old blog was more naive, less realistic, and definitely less cynical. And oh, my old blog had a lot more personality, imagination, and whatnot to it. I would actually call it interesting reading.

I've read through a few posts (all right, all right, I've read through ALL of them) and I must say, the stories seem to get better and better as time passes on. I had very simple stories in the beginning but they took on a more complex, more "huh..." form as time passes by. Of course, I still wrote a lot of "This is what I did today" posts but then again, I think that's a bit of a given. I've nothing else more of note to write, nothing inspiring, nothing really imaginative. Sad to say, of course.

Talking to Tofupuff last night, I mentioned that I've finally figured out how I can stop blogging. A certain scenario needs to be reached, criteria to be fulfilled, and then you will see me disappear from the blogging world for real. But I can never be sure. Who knows, even when all the "ticks" have been made and everything is picture perfect, I might just start another blog, somewhere, out there. In the wide unknown of cyberspace.

Rejected Poet. (2004-2006)
http://www.rejectedpoet.blogspot.com
http://dailyconfessionals.blogspot.com
http://blueskies.blogspot.com
http://foreveryoursforevermine.blogspot.com
http://tilthedayiholdyou.blogspot.com

Cerebral Rebel. (2006-2008)
http://cerebralrebellion.wordpress.com

[D@nc3R*] (2008)
http://cerebralrebellion.wordpress.com
http://cerebralrebellion.blogspot.com

Poet86. (2008)
http://poet86.easyjournal.com

Poet. (2009)
http://chapterlifeprologue.blogspot.com

What personality shall I take on after that? Does hiding behind these names give me anonymity? Does pretending to know what I am talking about and living behind a mask make everything more bearable?

It doesn't.

But Alea iacta est.

Once the dice is cast, the fates are set, we
shall see. We can only see.

If I weren't afraid.

Dory,This is sent to you first, because you were the first person to come up with a plain honest answer for which I am always grateful for. Peopple tend to cover up too much these days, me included. So this will go up on my blog but be assured that this entry comes to your inbox first. +D

Now, I'm not writing this because I am dead bored but honestly, I'm not dead bored at all. I'm at work and I've got 13 minutes before my next patient. As I write this, I want to be painfully honest with myself because only by being honest with myself do I feel that much better. I feel as though I would spend forever writing this because there are so many things I am afraid of but I dare not mention or I choose to live in denial. But now, I want write down as much as I can. Be brutally honest. Be painfully painfully honest to the point where I would shut my eyes in fear of what I have just typed.

There is something about being brutally honest to people, to things that you have kept covered with your duvet like some hidden lover as people burst into your bedroom. Its an opening UP and OUT of the soul, and the image of an eagle soaring beyond the sight of man comes to mind. I can imagine it bursting through the dark cloud layers and suddenly, there is light and soft fluffy clouds beneath.

But like Icarus, maybe telling the truth is not a very bright idea. You fly too close to the sun and you get burnt and you die. But there is that thrill, that luxury of being free. And why not? You might as well enjoy the last bit of life before you fall to your doom.

I am going to quote the Sociologist once again in a previous blog entry that she wrote.

A curious freedom is found in truth, whatever it is. The good and excellent bits, and the ugliest, most painful bits of truth. - the Sociologist

But of course, I am deviating. Rather than a discussion of what I truly fear, its become more of a topic on truth. Which, in reality, is something I fear. Right. Topic number 1.

1. If I weren't afraid, I wouldn't have to lie about so many things.

Truth be told (and no pun intended there), I lie a lot. And believe it or not, although I said I'm going to be brutally honest, I think there are some things that cannot ever see the light of day on cyberspace all because of the fact that some things deserve to die and be kept dead. No use to exhume the grave if nothing's going to be done to it, right? But what has been done has been done has been done. Let it die along with me.

2. If I weren't afraid, I would go home to work and become a dance instructor.

Now here is something I would have done if I wasn't afraid. Or if I was stupid, perhaps. You could look at it that way. I was willing to sacrifice everything I had here to go home and teach dance. And why not, I reasoned? It was the way I wanted things to go. I was more than keen to get everything up and going and just go home and start dancing. Maybe work in a hospital during the day and teach dance at night to tide me over. I wanted to introduce partner dancing again rather than just the normal solitary hip hop stuff everyone is into. I wanted to inspire and start a dance revolution. But I did not. And I am not sure whether that is something I would regret or something or something I would breathe a sigh of relief over. I still want to dance and teach dance. But that has yet to be seen. Or danced. Hm.

3. If I weren't afraid, I would have become a performing arts student. Or at least theatre/arts/dance student.

As above. I'm not sure if physio's really my thing but hey, it pays and I'm all right with it. Not really complaning, am I?

4. If I weren't afraid, I would travel around NZ in a car with just me, my iPod, my laptop, and a duffel bag of clothes.

I've wanted to do this for a while now. I was even wondering about the prospects of me hitchhiking around NZ. But of course, with me being me, its a little bit dangerous that way, obviously. Parents kinda don't want me to die too soon.

5. If I weren't afraid, I would have gotten a tattoo.

Obviously a pain issue. Can't you tell?

6. If I weren't afraid, I would tell the person that I liked straight up front. And then let whatever happens, happen.

Always been a bit of a puss about doing things like this. Its a basic fear of rejection, I gather. But then again, what's new? I mean, rejection is one of the biggest fears of mine. And I mean, dying alone was one of the things I was hoping I would never have to go through in the future. But now...things have changed, I feel.

7. If I weren't afraid, I would have taken that jump.

I've been there before. Its beautiful and the lights from tall buildings shine into your eyes and if you jump, you can imagine falling into the galaxy. Just ignore the sounds of glass shattering and cars braking and people screaming and blood seeping out of you.

8. If I weren't afraid, I would live a more simple life.

But I'm not sure if I want to give up the glamorous idea of apartment life in the main city. I'm not sure of that at all. Of course, having stayed in the country and having seen how beautiful it can be, its all I can do apart from packing up my bags and buying a pasture and a herd of cows.

9. If I weren't afraid, I would completely disappear and turn up again as a Spanish milonguero.

Wikipedia defines a milonguero as a person whose life revolves around dancing tango and the philosophy of tango, a man who has mastered the tango dance and embodies the essence of tango. How can you NOT want to be one?

10. If I weren't afraid, I wouldn't be here right now.

Actions have consequences, as the saying goes. Newton discovered that a force applied has a resultant equal and opposite force. Jesus Christ said, "Do unto others as you want it to be done unto you." Confucius picked up the opposite and said, "Don't do to others what you don't want them to do to you." In the film "Fiddler on the Roof", Teyve quoted, "If you spit in the air, it will land on your face."

So basically, I have been afraid. I have been cowed by my own fear and because of that, here I am. I sit here in this chair one and a half hours after work and I'm still here because I am here, by my own hand, by my own doing. I can choose to blame my heritage. I can choose to blame my lifestyle. I can choose to blame my upbringing. I can choose to blame my circumstances, my finances, my likes, dislikes, loves, hates, arguments, passions, whatever. But I am still here. I've made my choices, yes according to circumstances and likes and loves and passions and all that stuff. So here I sit. This is what I am. But to say that fear didn't have a part in it would be lies and denial.

Come to think of it, how much of you is controlled by fear? How much of life is controlled by fear? And how much difference would the great game of Life be if you weren't afraid?

It's not too late. We're still breathing. Still living. We still open our eyes in the morning. Something can happen. Still.

So I'm writing this from Gmail again.

Yeah, I've decided that since I logged onto Gmail so often, I would rather just blog from it as well rather than having to check, login, click on new post and bother with all that jazz.

 

Last night, I went to see the new DanceMentor, shook his hand, introduced myself, got myself all set up for assessments and classes and stuff so that's fun.

 

Also, last night, the RedHead contacted me and now, I'm going to be doing the Ceroc Kapi-Hutt Championships where I'm doing the showcase and couples competitions. Fun. Never thought things would head that way so soon.

 

And like the Sociologist texted me a few nights ago, "You have so much to offer Wangas and who knows, it might have so much to offer you too. More than the weather!"

 

It sure does now, Sociologist, it sure does now.

 

Today is one of those days that I've slept too late and worked out too hard at the gym yesterday. I'm looking at incredible soreness everything I lift my arms higher than 90 degrees as well as getting OOOH SORE pains whenever I shrug my shoulders.

 

And I'm yawning incredibly often too. Such a bad look for my patients.

 

Anyway, I've got someone coming in at 11.30 and its 11.15a.m. The patient list isn't looking too shabby today, I must admit. I'm just taking my time and writing out notes and living life as usual. Was supposed to wake up for a run this morning but guess what? I prefer the comfort of a warm bed rather than heading out into spitting rain which it was apparently doing this morning. Thank heavens that endorphins will have to kick me that much harder to get my fat as$ out of bed.

Running Free Pt2

Written on Thursday, 22/1/09. The things I find in my computer after work. Gosh.

Today, I went for a run.

Yours truly is 50 seconds away from qualifying for the army. Now all I have to do is get my pushups, sit ups, and pull ups up to speed. If only I have that much discipline to train for the others compared to my runs.

I tried to think on my run today. But all I can really do was gasp and focus on the fact that my lungs were killing me. Though I didn't get a stitch today, which was a good thing. It makes it so much easier to survive a run if I don't get a stitch. Although being completely drained of energy wasn't something I was too keen on, especially since I had not eaten a single thing since morning tea which consisted of something completely non-nutritious. I should pack lunch more often.

And oh, I told myself that I was going to haul my arse to the supermarket but ended up not doing it after all. I'm literally going to starve. All I really have right now is eggs, eggs, eggs. I guess I can make myself a vege omelette tomorrow for breakfast.

There's something about the tiredness after going for a run. You know, after you've finished a run and you've showered and you're sitting in your chair or lying on your bed just chilling out and thinking about the day's events, its the run that eventually comes to mind and you think to yourself that you didn't do so badly after all. It was okay. You survived. And you did it. Yayness.

I'm wondering if going for a run tomorrow at 6ish would be too torturous. In that case, I might need to get some shut eye soon. As I'm heading down to Welly tomorrow, I'm not too sure that I can exactly get my fix of exercise. Not that I'm an endorphin junkie as of yet (I still think that running is horrible but I enjoy every hellish moment of it) but if I'm wanting to start off good, I might as well do it with a run and really earn breakfast tomorrow. That's an idea. Yeah, I can do that.

I noticed that since last week, I've been running with 2 days break in between. Which is pretty good. I clocked up a 2.4km run the first time round, decidely become ambitious and did a 6.3km run which completely disabled me for 2 days straight (trust me, I needed the break) and then had a 5km run two days ago and today's 2.4km. I'm clocking up some pretty good hours (according to me). I did walk back 2.4km again today but that wasn't a run and it was after a break so I guess that was cooldown time for me. All good, though. My constantly aching calves remind me to stretch often throughout the day.

An odd thought occured to me when I was with a patient. You know, sometimes, when things get completely random and you want to do something completely crazy?

For those of you who have watched "True Lies" starring Arnold Schwarzeneggar and Jamie Lee Curtis, there was a scene where Arnold hung out with the car salesman who was seeing Jamie Lee Curtis and he imagined snapping his neck?

I thought of the exact thing when I was with a patient.

It was 1-ish in the afternoon so pardon the suddenly uncharacteristic outburst. [Then again, I'm not sure if that was completely uncharacteristic either]

And this patient was going on and on and suddenly, I just imagined snapping her neck and going, "Oops." in a very nonchalant manner.

Now, I just recalled, typing this out along with mentioning that I qualify for the army doesn't look too flash, is it?

No, I've not actually been thinking lately. I'm quite deprived of thoughts. In a way, I miss it immensely. I always liked the fact that I had a lot to write and half of it was bullsht anyway. But oh well, I guess it tends to happen.

Tong Tong Tong Chiang!

So yes, today is the beginning of the Chinese Lunar Year, which we Chinese people follow religiously and I've already missed out on the reunion dinner with friends/family, red packets full of free dough to be received first thing this morning, getting new clothes, and generally hanging out and really relaxing and enjoying myself.

But instead of doing all that awesome stuff, I'm at work, sitting in front of the computer...blogging.

Yes, dear Lord, my life is very interesting. I spend more time blogging than anything else. I'd hate to think of what would happen if I actually get Internet at home.

The Chinese New Year (CNY) celebrations are very very calm over here. Probably because Wangy has a Chinese population of oh...about less than 100 persons. That is very very likely, I kid you not. Although if we were to assume that one family had 1 dad, mum, and 3 kids, I would have 20 houses to visit. But bleh. No fun wei. No one I know.

That should be all right, though. Tonight, I'm going out for dinner with a friend and his Asian girlfriend at a Chinese restaurant. CNY celebs are bad to the point that I think even Chinese restaurants stay open on the 1st day of CNY. Wasn't it supposed to be bad luck if you worked on CNY?

Even more reason to claim a day off from the boss. "Oh J....."

Working life hits me again. I am going to go gym to torture myself before dinner tonight. Nothing else can justify the calories. +D

Down to Welly

So here I am again on another long unnecessary journey. And I've gotten out my laptop and I've started typing already. I surprise myself sometimes. I don't have much to say when I'm sitting at my desk after a long, usually eventless day at work but yet, as I'm sitting here staring out at industrial grounds and looking at wide open pastures, I'm inclined to write something.

It feels odd to be heading down to Welly. I used to remember how much I would look forward to going to Welly when I used to live in the Outback. That was odd enough. To be living on a farm was odd enough too. But now, I'm working, the full 40 hour week, and I feel as though I'm heading there for a "business trip" or something or rather . Instead, I'm picking up a box of stuff and heading back here again. Its a short weekend, for sure, but a change from staying in the White House. 

I'm also looking forward to work on Monday. Oh, you get the usual motley crew and the patient whom you would want to strangle and just send away but you can't because you know that without you, they're going to get worse. 

I also sometimes wonder how I ever got into the health profession. I mean, I think I'm more suited to paperwork or doing something technologically inclined rather than just look at a patient, move a few limbs and try to make a diagnosis. I don't really think I'm that much of a people person to really have the kind of love for the job. Sometimes, as can be read from previous posts, I have random murderous tendencies. 

I'm also wondering whether a health professional should blog so nonchalantly about his profession and literally making himself unworthy of the title.

Maybve i should stop. And maybe I should stop blogging about my profession. I think its much easier that way. But hang on, I don't blog about my profession. I used to, writing about patients with codenames and whatnot but I don't do that now exactly either. Now, my blog is more often than not about running, what's been on my mind lately, songs I'm listening to, that kind of stuff. Non-harmful stuff. Safe for kids.  Except for the odd PGR word. Wait...make that R16.

I really really really like writing on Notepad. It's positively addictive. 

The weather today, folks, heading out of Wangy, is blue, sunny, and perfect for a picnic. I should've brought a basket of sorts. Very picturescque outside my moving window.

Currently passing through a town called Marton. Hey MediMart, you owned a town and didn't tell me? +D

Oops. I should actually mention that I'm not quite passing through Marton. I'm on the way to Marton. 15km more and I'm seeing more sheep and less and less people. 

Somehow, a scene from "Black Sheep" comes to mind. Ugh.

I could stay awake...

...Just to hear you breathing
Watch you smile while you are sleeping
While you're far away and dreaming - Aerosmith.

This song is playing on the radio at the moment. Yes. I know. Completely lovesick/heartache/over-the-moon song.

Today I feel bereft.

Don't ask me why, really. I just feel empty of words. I'm not really sure why I'm typing this right now even though I don't really have anything smart to say or pearls of wisdom to scatter.

I feel bereft of words. I feel bereft of things to do, say, think.

As I close my eyes right now, one of the lines I wrote recently comes back to haunt me. No, not that its bad or anything but I think there's a certain truth to it.

Sometimes, life seems more of a fight every single day of your existence. You fight to get somewhere, you fight to get to the top of the heap, you fight and you fight and you fight. And at the end of the day, when the sun sets, you count your victories on bleeding knuckles through bruised and bloodied eyes.

Life does seem so much like a fight. And I think sometimes, I punch the bag so much that I forget that my knuckles are bleeding, that my eyes are bruised and swollen shut to the point where I think I'm hitting a big red bag but instead, I'm just continually punching myself in the face.

So much for ignorance is bliss, isn't it?

Deal me In.

It is a strange thing to wish to die - Nikka, Hitman.

It truly truly is.

But there are some moments where you wish that life would just stop right there and then. That you don't have to deal with the frivolousness of life anymore. That life could end. That you could take the remote control and press the STOP button. Then EJECT.

But life is never that easy, is it?

Of course, there is always the possibility of suicide but then again, you'll have to cope with the mental struggle of doing it in the first place. Which is always hard enough to deal with.

I thought of going for a run today but my body protested. Too tired, it said, dragging me back into the chair that I was sitting on. I willed my body but it rejected and resisted. So I stayed put.

And as I gazed out at the trees waving in the evening breeze, I wondered what does it really matter that I am here and now. Coping with 22 years of my life so far, I'm quite happy to call it a day.

No doubt, heading up the career ladder would be thrilling but not enough motivation for me to keep breathing air. I'm pretty sure that getting married and having kids would be wonderful as well but marital bliss and little "mini me"s calling me "Daddy" doesn't quite beat chewing on a cyanide pill just yet. Living the life I was meant for...yeah, that probably is the best reason for me to keep waking up each morning but sometimes, I still want the sun to die. Along with me.

Sometimes, life seems more of a fight every single day of your existence. You fight to get somewhere, you fight to get to the top of the heap, you fight and you fight and you fight. And at the end of the day, when the sun sets, you count your victories on bleeding knuckles through bruised and bloodied eyes.

Today, I thought about the ways I would want to die.

In a way, I would like to die a spectacular death. Like in a fireball of a car accident or having the bungy rope break when I decide to finally go for it. A death that I would remember even for myself.

But I juggled that with just disappearing. Like the Bride Stripped Bare (fantastic book, by the way. Depressingly so too.) Just...disappearing. And leaving a series of letters and diary entries. And leaving people to decipher where the heck did I actually go off to or did I actually kick the bucket.

And of course, the chicken shit side of me thinks of a relatively painless death. Morphine or some painless poison.

Tonight, I wondered why talking about death and about the topic of dying is such a taboo in Asian society. The common utterance would be "CHOY!" and inevitably some reaching out to touch the nearest thing made of wood. Is death so bad? It is nasty, fair enough, but something to be avoided completely? Why can't we, as rational human beings, accept death as much as life and to know and understand that it is a part of life that human beings are curious of because we never really know for sure what's on the other side? Deal with it.

But looking at the hand that Life and Fate and Death has dealt me so far, I'm quite keen to fold. And sit out.

For now.

Die.

A little part of me feels slightly sad. It probably dies a little too.

When I finish going through my Google Reader for the day.

Over the weekend

EDIT: There's something very mature and grown up about drinking percolated coffee with skim milk. Unfortunately, that's where the maturity ends. Childishness started with 3 heaped teaspoons of white sugar. I'm soo gonna die of diabetes.

Here are blog entries written over the weekend when I was internet deprived.

17/1/09

Those were the days, my friend
We thought they've never end
We'd sing and dance, forever and a day
We lived the life we choose
And find we'd never lose
Those were the days, my friend, those were the days

***

I wonder what's at the end of that tunnel. I wonder if I keep walking, will I ever reach an actual end. I wonder, if life continues as it is, will there ever be a happy ending.

The music is turned up loud now. Words I've not heard for what seems like decades (oh wait...maybe a few years or so) fill the room. Chinese words, some of which I understand and some of which just reminds me of the past.

In the car, driving. Its a hot day. Eating at cafes. Seeing unfamiliar chinese characters written on the signboard and deciding to order in Hokkien instead because that's familiar ground.

David Tao and Tension's "Wo Men de Gu Shi" sure does bring back memories.

Its on this hot and windy day that I decide to write this.

Its a Saturday morning. Its a day off work. Its a long weekend that I'm extremely grateful for. I look forward to the luxury of doing nothing and yet...I miss the company of actual human beings.

I tell you, if I had the Internet...

A day like this deserves a long cold lemonade and a hammock in the shade of a big leafy tree.

The sun is out and the skies are blue. Again. Seriously, Wangy is going to all the trouble of keeping me here. If the weather stays like this for the rest of the duration of me having to be here, I might just fall in love with the weather and decide never to leave.

Its one of those afternoons where you lounge in your chair and decide to fall asleep because it is deceptively seductive in the quiet and cool of your room. I've drifted off twice already and it is one of those good naps. I could cuddle here. Right next to you.

"When I saw you in Verona
You sat down and I moved over
Pretty people but all I saw was you" - Elemeno P

I'm getting desperate for inspiration again. As you can see, I'm starting to post song lyrics. Bleh.

"He tastes like you, only sweeter." - Fall Out Boy

You know, I've never really considered myself as a deep thinker. But now, come to think of it, I'll say that I am.

I've never really been a diary person or a journal person. Last journal I kept, I ended up putting it somewhere that even I don't remember.

And forget the line about the deep thinker. It sounds like I'm boasting about it. Last thing I want to do as of now.

But I've always quite enjoyed the play on words. The rhyming, the timing, the sounds of it. I try and put together sentences that actually sound good and lines that capture people's imaginations.
"Our lips can touch
Our cheeks can brush
Our lips can touch
Here." - HelloGoodbye

Hm.

@@@@@

19/1/09

Slice and dice an onion.

There's something very therapeutic about making dinner. Or cutting onions, for that matter.

I've currently been living off "convenient" foods. Thank heavens for pasta sauce and 12 minute ready pasta.

I've apparently found out that pasta which has incidentally been boiled in water as salty as ocean once tossed in some olive oil, pepper, a residue of pasta water, and sprinkled with parsley tastes delicious. Dare I say, even better than the Italian Restaurant that I used to work in. So THAT's how they do it. Although I probably ate too much for my own good.

I start work early tomorrow morning. I'm so not looking forward to my workload. And I think I'm dying on the inside without Internet access at home. I can't wait to upload this entry either. And I'm not sure if I want to go through my Google Reader list. It's going to be so full its not even funny anymore.

Today's itinerary consisted of a bright sunny day spent with the Pharmacist and his girlfriend at the 18 hole mini golf game and a 5 minute run of the go-karts which was really really fun. Lazed in bed until I HAD to get up which was all good.

Strangely enough, my mind has been quietly devoid of thoughts today. And not just today, either. Its been gone for a while. I'm not sure whether that's good or bad. I don't really think anymore. I'm wondering if I'm just becoming one huge dud. No, that's not a spelling error. I really meant to say dud. One huge dud for a head. Like a grenade that doesn't explode. Bloody useless.

I think I might go for a run.

Oh well. I'll write more when I get back.

*****

After pounding out a slightly disappointing 5km (seriously, I think I did wayy better on Friday but that's another story. Oh no, I've not told that one yet. I ran 6.3km in 33mins 15secs.) in roughly around 30 minutes, I had a shower and here I am again.

This year's sporty idea is to learn how to swim enough to the point where I can actually do a triathlon. I know, I know, I sink better than I swim. So what's new, right? I can run, I can bike, now all I need to do is to be able to put one arm out in front of the other and try not to drown. Parents won't be too happy if I do.

Its a short work week this week. I'm quite looking forward to it. But first, its going to be a busy busy day tomorrow. What with 8am starts and 4.30pm finishes and most likely me staying late because from the look of things and from the last glance at my appointment sheet, I'm booked solid.

But its me making money and I'm proud of the fact.

Hm.

I'm in a more sombre thinking mood right now.

Maybe I run....because its my form of escape. Literally.

Maybe because when I'm running, I have no time to think. Its not so much that I think things through when I'm running. Truth to tell, when I run, I don't think. The mind kind of goes blank. Maybe I should try thinking when I run. It might help. I mean, I've tried to hook up the mp3 player but its only doing me so much good and no more than that. Try having "Hot Stuff - Craig David" or "I Wanna Know - Daniel Beddingfield" rhythmically tapping itself through my one good ear and you don't really think. I focus on the lyrics but that's not really thinking either, is it?

When I run, I tend to psyche myself up to see the turns in the road, the familiar bits and pieces that tell me that I'm nearly home, the signs and landmarks and the all-too-familiar Mobil pump station that means that home is barely a minute run away now. Its not a bad thing per se but I don't really think about the problems I'm facing or whatever I want to solve in my life right now.

So what does happen when I run?

My heart pounds. I get a stitch. I try and focus on keeping my feet "quiet" as it is good form to run with "quiet" feet. I breathe in and out and in and out. With my mouth open because I feel I get more air in and out that way, with my mouth shut so I don't get a dry mouth. My legs feel slightly tight but hey, I'm not sure if I even recovered fully from the 6.3km run two days before.

I tell myself that I'm passing the street, the shop, the turn, I'm nearly there.

KFC now is my focus for running. From my place to KFC, that's 2.4km. Roughly. Or so Google Maps tell me. If I'm to be accepted into the Territorial Forces, it'll take me only 10 minutes and 30 seconds....and UNDER to be able to get into the army. But let's not look that far ahead just yet, shall we? I still can't do enough pull ups, sit ups, or push ups. That's a goal, anyway.

I think I'm running sub 15mins?

But passing KFC lets me know that I ran 2.4km without stopping. And for me, that's a personal achievement considering I never ran even for ice cream.

But I do run for KFC. +D

So I run to forget. To let my mind go blank and allow myself to focus only on me and the physical effects of what I'm doing to myself.

Run to forget.

In some ways, I imagine running like Forest Gump. How he kept running and running until one day, he solved it. He found all the answers and stopped running.

I wonder if I'll ever find all the answers.

I wonder if the happy ever after ending still exists.

And if it does, you can count on me to keep running for it until I have it. No matter how long it takes. No matter how many 5km runs it takes and no matter how many half hours I need to get it. I'll find it.

Somehow.

To do list.

Ugh.

4 minutes to my next patient and the only thing on my mind right now is that I want to make a to-do list and tick them off one by one.

1. Run and run and run all the way home. Okay? That's to KFC and around the huge Carlton Avenue and home again. Oh? No slowing down ah. Feel like what you felt the other day, can?

2. Write a letter to various people of various origins. And send them off tomorrow.

3. Finish off Counterstrike's most recent battle.

4. Study a little. Read a little more.

5. Attend the market on Saturday morning. Provided I wake up.

6. Go to gym on Sunday.

7. Contact the new DanceMentor.

8. Tidy my room. Finally.

9. Do laundry.

10. Sleep early. (As if I can!?!?!)

All right. Patient time.

Made it through.

In a way, life is about making it through things.

Its about overcoming challenges and facing adversities and going, "Yoohoo!"

Its about living from day to day and at the end of it all, going, "Huh. I'm still alive. Oh okay. Lets cook some pasta."

Its about surviving every single thing chucked at you during your day, every piece of shit that they could find that was flung in your general direction and then you stand up and blow a raspberry at their horrible aiming skills.

This song meant something to me today.

Barry Manilow - I made it through the rain

When friends are hard to find
Life seems so unkind
Sometimes you feel afraid
Just think beyond the clouds
And rise above the crowds
And start your own parade
When I chased my fears away
Its only then that I could finally say

I made it through the rain
I kept my world protected
I made it through the rain
I kept my point of view
I made it through the rain
And found myself respected
By the others who
Got rained on too
And made it through

I used to think I like to preach the "enjoy life to the fullest" philosophy. But somehow, I'm kinda stuck in a bit of a limbo here. I'm not too sure what I want anymore.

But then again, how many 22 year old people know exactly what they want in life at this stage? Not many, if any. Or maybe that's just a random sweeping statement.

I think I need to go for another run.

At this point in time, I think I've survived quite a bit. And funnily enough, this all happened when I first moved back here in 2004.

Man, how I wished I discovered blogging sooner.

Of course, I did flirt with the idea of blogging and tried the whole documenting thing when I was in high school. It was just pretty hard to update when the library only opened at 8.15a.m. and there were a whole bunch of high school kids jockeying for their turn to update and read their Bebo pages. Fair enough.

So I started seriously in 2005 and I must say, I don't think I've ever looked back. In many more years to come, I'll still be sitting in front of a computer, updating my life for friends and random strangers who chance upon this blog. In many more years, I'll still be here, writing about what I did today and telling random stories and laughing at whatever my day brought. Or else, I would be ranting and emo-ing and dealing with the hand I was dealt here. Open.

Although there were moments that I refrained from blogging, it was oh-so-hard. It was hard to NOT log in and dash off another post, no matter where I was or what I was doing. Being deprived of Internet absolutely smacked me upside down when I had a bottleneck of blogposts on the laptop and no way of updating them.

And there were times that I deleted bits and pieces of my life off the Net, fearful of retribution or wary of spectatorship that I was not keen on or denial at a past that existed that I built with my two hands and my mind and my heart.

But I always came back. I think my readers would be happy to know that. That I would always pop up again, different site, different name, same scenario, same email in inboxes around the world to say, "Hey guys. I'm back. SIGH."

Oh, but how I long to stop.

Bloody addiction. There should have a Bloggers' Anonymous but I'm thinking it'll end up as a photofest and a whole lot of camwhoring pics on the Net. Not working.

I want to stop. Help me kick the habit. Anyone got a cigarette? Or at least some anti-blogging gum I can munch on? Anyone? Free needle? Pweese? Shot of ice? Um. Weed smoke?

In a way, I think I know the best way to stop. But it would probably end up with me posting notepad files. All over again.

I think it would be cool if I wrote like a blog post everyday and collected it and put it on a USB flash drive and give it to someone when I've filled it up.

Oh, I think I know how. But if you find out, I'll have to kill you. +)

Have a goose day, people.

Running. Free.

This was yesterday.

I went for a run today.

And literally, it was a run. An awesome, medium paced run. It wasn't a jog, it wasn't a heart killer, it wasn't plodding like what I did last year when I was in Levin.

It was a run.

And I felt my legs push the ground away from under me. I didn't bounce up and down uncontrollably when I ended up jogging to grab a breath or two. I pulsed in time with the steps of my feet. I ran. And I saw my expression in the windows of the shops as I passed by. It wasn't panicked. It wasn't breathless. It wasn't dead or near faint.

It was alive.

It felt every single beat of my heart and even though my heart felt like wanting to give up a little, I didn't let it. I just let it keep going. I let my heart pound out every painful beat that told me it wanted to stop and what the fuck did I think I was doing to it. But I just let it keep going.

And I breathed.

In. Out. In. Out. In step. In time.

And I was getting there. I was getting in the rhythm.

I think I'm getting addicted to running. Oh, imagine the possibilities.

I read on a runner's blog that running is great for thinking. And I think that's pretty true as well. I'm starting to get my thinking cap on when I start pounding the pavement.

It seems to be helping. I think. I'll keep it going and keep you updated in a few months time.

Now, I know what it means by you know you're going to run once you've tied your shoelaces. No matter what, there's no way you're heading back to bed or going back to the desk. You're going to head out that door and run and run for no real reason. No one's chasing you, you're not late for the bus. You're running for the sake of it. You're running just because you can. You're running just because you want to. You want to get the pores open and sweating and feeling it stick to your shirt and it feels all right.

Yeah. Its all right.

I used to hate running. Believe it or not, doing the treadmill was so not my thing. I would used to run on the treadmill just because I was hoping to qualify for the territorial forces but I stopped after getting a possible hip flexor strain. I never really ran since.

But its still good though. I'm enjoying myself.

Yayness.

Overdelayed stuff...2.

The rest of it. Full stop. I stopped somewhere last week, I think. It was a Friday. Oh well, good reading!

I never knew that working can make you so tired.
I spend half the time sitting down reading manuals and protocols regarding health and safety policies along with sometimes sitting in on patients and whatnot but still, at the end of the day, I'm literally ready to give up and surrender.
I desperately need a cup of Lady Grey. I'll be back soon.

****
I've just transferred two of my luggage bags to the White House, came back, had two cups of tea, and sat down and finished one episode of House and one episode of Grey's Anatomy. I'm seriously tired. I look forward to dozing off in about 15 minutes time. But first, I need a shower.
I'm quite looking forward to seeing my two patients tomorrow. And signing off their notes with NZRP (New Zealand Registered Physiotherapist.) Yah, I know. Gosh. I never thought I'd see the day but guess what? I can do that now. And its a good thing. +)
And I notice that my blog posts are becoming "This is what I did today, this is what I did yesterday". *Yawn* material, seriously. Why have I become so boring? Oh yeah, I started working. For real.
Bleh.

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All grown up.
Today's highlight included me writing down "NZRP 2009" over and over again as I signed and dated patient's notes. How sad is that, really.
It's been a long day. I'm tired and gosh, the sky is barely dark as I write this. The sun is barely setting and yet, I feel that the day has already ended for me. No so much a creature of the night anymore, am I?
I feel that in the last 5 days, I've grown up. A little. +)
The concerns are no more for the trivial. Its more about keeping myself healthy, keeping my finances in check, keeping myself sane, making sure my patients get the best of whatever I can offer.
I'm growing up. And I'm not quite sure if I want to.
Somehow, I feel as though I want to retreat to the "immaturity" of the past. Where I thought about things a lot more and I put myself through a lot more emotional torture, for that matter. But I guess, once I'm out here, I'm out here. I'm facing life now. I'm facing work now. I'm facing....whatever I'm going to be facing now.
Funny. I never thought I'd be here. In this place. All grown up now, huh?
I look out the window and I see a familiar site. The streets, dark and quiet, illuminated by puddles of yellow light from the street lamps. In a way, this feels like what I'm used to. What I still see. What I still long to see.
But I guess my nightly escapades have come to an end. My blog entries have also become quite mundane. Boring. Bleh-ing. Nothing more interesting to write now because all I can really talk about is day to day living. No more stories, no more stuff to write. No more interesting thoughts or questions.
Life does tend to be dull. Sheesh.
I once mentioned to PrettyBrunette and I think several of my friends have heard me say this as well, that life is boring and it only becomes interesting when you make it so.
Today is my 6th day of being in Wanganui. I'm surviving so far. Its nearly one week.
"If you leave me now, you'll take away the biggest part of me...whoooah, no, baby please don't go."
I despise this song. Too many memories. Indomie, the cold, the uncertainty, the hurt, the need to let go. The finality of it all.
I'm not sure how I can spice up life here in Wanganui. There's only so much to spice up and I'm seriously dying in regards to my social life because I don't have that many friends and I don't have internet. Seriously, being isolated socially and technologically kinda calls for social amputation.
I might sign up for a gym membership. It takes about 20 minutes walking but hey, after work and you know, it might be good for me after all. I get to socialise. For 60 minutes if not for anything else.
Oh, here's something to blog about.
I went to the gym today and the owner talked to me and I mentioned that I was a physiotherapist at the hospital.
And in a way, I wished I didn't. Because after that, the owner came to talk to me and the guy that manned the counter also chatted to me heaps about his own surgery. And they gave me a free pass to attend the gym a second time round.
I guess, there is something good about getting a free pass to the gym and getting recognised as someone but still, I really don't think I need all that extra attention just because I know the body a little better than other people.
It kinda made me thing about how the Higher Authority wanted me to do a PhD in my degree and further my studies because having a "Dr" in front of your name is perhaps the most important thing because people look at you differently and people treat you differently and you get respected.
Its not all about the prestige. Its not all about being respected. I know a lot of people who do PhDs because they love what they do and they are interested in their subjects and they work hard to get it and do what they love in all honesty.
I also know a lot of students who want to be doctors because they want to wear the white coat and the stethoscope and be revered and worshipped. But seriously? I've heard too much about this sect of the health profession to have respect for them like that. Whatever happened to teamwork and allied health? All bollocks, is it? And you, DR, have you treat me? Thanks but no thanks. For all I know, a self diagnosis might even be more accurate.
And so what about the stethoscope? I have a white lab coat. I got a fancy looking name tag. I have a stethoscope. I can look like you any time I want. Yeah, no doubt, my degree took 4 rather than 8 years and you get paid shitloads more and you save lives but I'm the one who makes lives worth living after you save them. Bleh, this is getting to become a rant on doctors.
*no offence to my good doctor friends whom I truly respect for their kindness and their honest caring hearts for the people whom they dedicate their lives to.*
But anyways, its 11.16pm and I'm knocking off. Good grief, age is catching up. Haha.

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So I'm back again.
Its 11.31p.m. right now. Its late and I know that I really should get to sleep if I don't want to yawn throughout the entire day.
Tomorrow, I'm having my first full caseload for the week. 8 patients in all and all of them looking at me to make them better. A lot of shoulders, some with wrist pain, all coming out of surgery one way or another. Talk about pressure. Gee.
But its the end of the week. And I'm hoping to be able to get something down to Welly on the weekend so I can pick up my box of stuff. But probably not this weekend. It'll be a bit too rushed. And I'm not quite looking forward to moving stuff all over again. That's moving, though. In a way, I'm anticipating a full room full of my stuff again. I've been living in rooms bare enough, really. Just the laptop and I, chilling out. All good but there's only so much of the movies and the games I have here.
I really really miss having internet access. Its literally tearing me inside out. Being unable to blog is painful enough and actually writing up to 14 entries now on the laptop is pure pure stupidity. I'm wondering if I can actually ask the rental department if they would allow me to set up a broadband connection in my room. I've found where the phone jack is and I'm sure that someone will be keen to share the cost of it.
Worst case scenario, dial-up lor. *beeeeeeep beeep bbzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz*
And on a completely different note...
I dreamt I kissed you. And you were soft and gentle and slightly sweet on the lips and you melted into my arms. When I never thought it was even possible, you came true.
I like that. Oh yeah.
So where was I?
Oh yeah, internet is killing me. The lack of it, more like.
I'm currently in the White House. If I've not mentioned it before in earlier blog entries, this is the new accomodation that I was supposed to be in from the very start but I didn't get a chance because everyone was still on holiday and people were being slack. Bleh. So now I'm in. Its all right. Roof over my head. Kitchen to cook in. Bed to sleep in. The basic necessities are met. I'm easily satisfied.
But hell...my thighs are still killing me. Oh man oh man oh man.
I walk like an old old old man.
Tomorrow, I'm going to torture myself with deadlifts. I'm sadistic that way. And then I'm going to go for a run.
I expect my weekend to be spent in bed bemoaning my stupidity and groaning like an old man. What's new, eh?
Oh, I might book driving lessons. Muahahaha.
I really should go to bed. I'm looking at only 7.5 hours sleep tomorrow. I really should get a flash drive so I can put all my blog posts up. The longer I keep them here, the smaller my free disk space is gonna get.
Not that it really matters anyway. But still. Sigh. Nitey.

Capacity.

There was once a little bucket. Pretty little thing, with a red bucket and a black shiny handle. Her parents were proud. So proud of her.

She never really saw them, of course. She only knew that Big Daddy smoked a lot and blew lots of smoke out of his chimney when he was working and Big Mummy had spat her with her big hot mouth and that was that. She was one of many little buckets moving on a conveyer belt, all with different colours and different handles. But she was special. Why?

Because she was red and black.

Mummy had whispered to her in the few minutes she was inside Mummy that she was a beautiful rich red. Like the colour of tomatoes at the peak of their ripeness. Like the oozing allure of rubies and pomengranate seeds, little jewels. But Mummy said she was special. She was like the colour of tango.

"What's tango, Mummy?"

Oh, Mummy had sighed, tango was a dance. It was two people coming together and dancing as if they were not two but one person. They moved with such intimacy, such elegance, such such sensuality that other dancers sat down to watch and cry at how beautiful it all was.

"Have you ever seen tango, Mummy?"

Have I ever, she said. Once, two people had walked into the huge hall where Mummy made all her little kiddie buckets and they had a performance. Out in the corner, Mummy had watched, eyes aglow with wonder as a man and a woman walked onto the floor in the middle of the night and danced the tango. There was no music, just the two of them. But you could tell, Mummy said, you could tell they were dancing to their heartbeats.

"How, Mummy?"

Because they pulsed. They took a step for every single thump their hearts squeezed.

"What does tango look like?"

Tango, Mummy patiently explained, was like a wave. It was like a swirling wave in the middle of a bucket. Like how if you, little bucket, were to be filled up with water and someone put his hand and stirred it around and around, you know how the water would sirl? Its just like that. The tango is exactly like that. It swirls around and around. The man moves around the lady and then she moves around him and then they stare into each others eyes and she wraps one leg around his leg and they bend like windblown grass.

"But why red and black, Mummy?"

Because she wore red. And he wore black. And together, they melded, like the colour of a bloodstained moon against a stark, dark night.

"Oooh..." she was lost in wonder, the little bucket. She was captivated. But it was hard, she knew. To live up to something as wonderful as a tango would be hard. She wanted to be the best bucket there ever was. Like tango. Graceful and elegant and sensual.

But of course, being a bucket, no one ever saw past her beautiful red facade. No one ever saw how shiny she kept her black handle, thinking of the rich, black, sparkling shoes the man must have worn to dance with the beautiful satin red of the lady's dress. People only saw a bucket. Cleaner, perhaps, than other buckets but it was a bucket. They used it carry water and clothes and sometimes empty out a blocked drain which she really hated but she did it anyway.

People. They never saw her.

Only Sapheena. Sapheena saw her.

And Sapheena understood.

Everyday, Sapheenaa would fill her up with water and bubbles and she would dip a mop in her and swirl it around and around. And the little bucket would laugh and giggle and imagine the tango. And Sapheena would sing such wonderful songs in a language that the little bucket did not understand. The little red bucket sat there to listen and sing along with her watery voice whenever Sapheena rinsed out the mop. Sapheena was cool. Sapheena kept her clean. And polished.

As the years went by, Sapheena moved on. The red bucket grew up. Now, handle no longer polished, red plastic a little cracked, the red bucket accepted her fate. She was there for rubbish and dirty water and puke whenever the Master drank too much. No. She was not tango material.

Until one day.

She was being flung over the side of the balcony as usual in the early evening to empty out the dirty water when she caught sight of a crowd of people and two people dancing down below. The servant girl who was holding on to her handle stopped and placed the bucket on the railing. And they both watched. The red bucket, with her eyes aglow.

The man wore black. And the woman wore red. And together, they danced like swirling water in a bucket. And once again, the red bucket stood tall and proud, holding up the cracks, because she was not just a red bucket. She was one who held swirling water. She held tango.

And then one day, a new bucket turned up. Another one, just like the once little red bucket. She was red and black and resigned to the fact that she would be nothing more than a vessel for liquid.

But then the little red bucket told her, "You're more than that. You're like tango. The blood red of life and the blackness of the night."

And the new bucket stared, wide-eyed and amazed, as the red bucket told her the story of tango. How they were made special. How they were tango.

The end.

[Off the top of my head. Completely random thanks to the title given by the Sociologist]

Overdelayed delayed...stuff.

These are 6 blog posts typed on the laptop during random midnight hours and on the planes and buses that were necessary to bring me to where I am today. Forgive me if the thoughts sound disjointed. I've got 14 ish posts all together so bear with me ya?

EDIT: If you've read up to the Indiana Jones part of the post, please scroll down and continue. I've just uploaded 5 more entries for your reading pleasure. +D

31/12/08
There's so many things to dream about. So many things to do and be and want to be.
But now, I feel as though I'm stuck in a dream. I'm stuck in that haze that you get when you wake up from a midafternoon nap. Like you're suspended in reality.
You're halfway between the real world and the fantasy world that you've just woken up from.
Mouth a little dry and head starting to pound.
You look outside and the sky is still bright but yet you feel as though you've lost a sense of timing. Whether it is 10am or 3pm, doesn't really matter to you anymore. You can't be bothered to give a shit.
Seemingly unintelligent words spill from my fingers. An urgency that I don't really understand make me type faster, as though I am facing my impending doom and yet, I don't realise that the Grim Reaper's scythe hangs above my neck. All I do is sit here and type. And type and type and type.
The laptop burns hot. It sears my groin where it sits, a comfortable burning pain that you know if increased another two degrees Celsius, will be uncomfortable.
I am not used to typing on this keyboard anymore. It feels big, cumbersome, unwieldly, too far to reach. I am now familiar with the small keys and the clackety-clacks of the Aspire.
The cotton wool sensation in my head is annoying. But as I sit here, I hear the occasional beep of the smoke detector and the distant drone of cars and someone coughing. My fingers fly across the keys, knowing where its headed but making oh so many mistakes it isn't funny.
Today is the last day of the year.
It is the end of 2008. And the herald for 2009.
I have cleaning to do. Oh dear lord.
I want to sniff books and smell the ancient smell of used text that people have picked up and read and flipped and dog-eared and marked and jotted down and scribbled in. The scent of a loved book is sometimes better than the fresh factory scent of a newly manufactured book off the press, still hot from impressing ink.
Being without internet is FUCKING annoying. But I'm not sure where else I can claim wifi from.
I sit alone at home with the beeping smoke detector and my luggage strewn across the sofa. That's all my worldly belongings. Plus minus a box or two.
I like doing this. Typing down my random thoughts and little little things that I'm pondering.
I wonder whether tomorrow will be a good day. I want it to be cloudy and a bit cold so that I can wrap up and have less clothes to carry in my bag. But Wanganui? I hardly doubt that, Probably blisteringly hot. I hope I can get a train. To Palmerston North, of course. But I'm not sure how to go about booking it.
I need to prepare myself for actual actual work on Monday. oh FUCKING SHIT.
If I am a smoker, I would probably need a cigarette at the moment. Just to get a hang on things, a perspective.
Family left today. And as glad as I am to see them go, you know the whole familiarity breeds contempt thing, I am not used to the quietness of the house. I am not used to being on my own.
I hope that one day, I could likely say that I am not used to being with people. A hermit's life for me!
I really really need to start cleaning up.

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Smile and you break my heart
Its nearly the end of 2008. Nearly the end of December. Nearly the end of my life as it is in Dunny.
I shall be moving to WangyWangy on New Year's Day. And then I'll be making my way up by plane, bus, whatnot. I'm kind of excited. I wonder what's in store for me.
I've also gotten my registration certificate as well as a document called APC (Annual Practising Certificate) that allows me to practise in my chosen field of work. I feel all grown up all of a sudden.
In a way, I'm still wondering what is possibly in store for me. And I wonder whether this coming year will promise new changes or new challenges or will it change me literally to the point where I wouldn't recognise myself when I type my year end entry for 2009.
"Make Me Sweat" still plays in the background. Its very 1950s. Very....elegantly sensual. Maybe I should change the introduction. Or something.
Was flipping through a motivational book lying on a shelf and I came across the idea that if you are able to take into control your fears, desires, the things that happen around you, you could change your life. And I wondered about whether I could make that kind of life change. Whether I was able to make everything happen. If only I just took control. If only I just put a bridle around the rearing head of my life and take charge...for once.
Sometimes, I feel as though I'm pretty much just floating around and letting myself be carried on the waves of Life. That I sail along with the waves and the tides, following wherever it leads me, just floating along. Hopelessly. If the waves crash, I sink and I float and I get tossed by the storms that hit me again and again.
My personal demons have never really gone away, has it?
But I'm going to take a hold of myself. And make me happen.
I need to. I must.
I'm growing up.
If not, I'm grown up then. And its about damn time that I play the part.

@@@@@

And with a burst of light, its over.
And in comes in 2009.
Amid the drunken throng who yelled and cheered as pyrotechnicians lit thousands of fireworks above us, the brightly burning 2009 numbers emblazoned themselves in my memory.
Sis pats my shoulder, "Your first working year."
Yeah, I know. Can't forget that now, can we?
Ash fell onto the waiting crowds' heads as we stood close enough that the ashes from the fireworks fell like out of season snow. The air was tinged with the smell of alcohol. Among strangers' faces, I saw some that I recognised. Some from school, some from work, some from Health Science, some from physio. A band played "Auld Lang Syne " and the crowd mumbled along. Probably too inebriated.
The atmosphere was warm. Very summery. As it should be.
Standing in shorts and a t-shirt, I held my phone up long enough to take pictures of the spectacle at the Octagon to get a sore shoulder from keeping it up that way for 5 minutes. Wow. First time I've actually ever attended a New Year's Eve celebration.
And somehow...you seem to be missing.
You should have been there with me. You should have been by my side.
But you weren't. And I wondered for a moment what you were doing at that very second when the clock struck twelve.
Hm.
As much as I have feigned disinterest at relationships, I sometimes wonder. A man can wonder, can't he? I wonder what it would be like to have walked together with you, hand in hand, to our special little place to watch the fireworks. Holding you close as you shiver against the cold or probably protest against the additional bodyheat. And as the fireworks lit the sky, I wonder how the lights would have sparkled in your eyes. And the curve of your smile as I kissed your lips and murmured a little "Happy New Year" into your ear.
And in our little secret spot, you would snuggle up against me as I pulled you close and together, we would watch the lights explode until there was no more light and once again, we were back into the darkness.
But a dream is a dream is a dream.

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Oxymoronic Weather
The cheeriness of the morning does not match my mood.
The sun is out, the skies blue, patches of light grey clouds floating past. The ground remains wet from what obviously looks like morning dew but the sun seems relentless enough to start drying sunspots on the road where it is not shaded by the trees.
Today is the day of the big move. And I've just woken up and put my sleeping gear away.
This is it, Poet. This is the biggest step I've taken so far and God knows where I'll end up because of it.
A new Year, Poet. A new start. A new slate. A new time to disappear.
A time to begin anew. A time to try and leave the mistakes of the past behind and try and run as far away as I can.
I know this is futile. As it always is. After all, we are all taught to learn from our mistakes, not run as far away as we can. My train of thought is obviously flawed philosophy.
When I woke up this morning, one of the thoughts that crossed my mind was that I was literally scared shitless. I'm going to actually work on Monday. I wonder whether it would be like the hospital where I am supervised constantly for the first week or so and then am I going to get chucked into the deep end?
I don't know.
Well, 4 more days and then I'll know for sure.

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I'm on the plane right now heading for Wellington, about ?30? minutes into the flight. Thank God for small laptops.
After being served a rather saltier-than-usual pack of chips and a mildly diluted tea, I'm starting to get bored. I want to watch my movie but I don't have a pair of headphones and of course, I'm not sure I want the sounds of "Pink Panther" echoing throughout the Boeing 737. Talk about bad preparation for things.
In a way, it still feels really surreal. I can't believe I'm actually flying up to my first real real real job. I'm going to get paid for this. And in a sizable amount too.
A text I got from Sis who saw me off at the airport stated, "Bye bye...my little bro is all grown up now."
Yeah, grown up. Interesting concept. More like grow old. I'm still very immature in my own head.
But it should be okay, right? I mean, when I get down at the airport, first things first, I'm going to head to the railway station and see if I can book anything. I need to get to Palmy as soon as possible. Was hoping to take a walk around town but now, I'm seriously doubting if anything is open at all. Shit.
Worst case scenario, I'll end up spending the night in Wellington and hopefully, find my own way up to Wangy tomorrow.
The airplane noise is very loud. Even with my own one functioning ear, I'm thinking its loud. I'm thankful that I only have one functioning ear. Would have hated to deal with noise coming into both ears.
Oh, just talking about ears, I told the truth on my job contract. Well...not so much truth rather than actually admitting that I am half deaf instead of omitting out that little detail. With previous jobs, I've never actually made known the little fact about my little disability. After all, catching mumps at the tender age of 2 and then learning to deal with a bung ear kinda makes you adapt pretty quickly to the fact that all sound seems to be coming from the right ear. I wonder what the other people are going to say. Advice was to actually get hearing aids but seriously? I would think twice about being treated by someone who walked in with a hearing aid. I might even start speaking slower. But then again, that's prejudice, isn't it? And I can't do that. And I hope other people don't do that to me as well. Who knows, I might look extremely *ahem* distinguished with wires coming out of my ears.
A year up in WangyWangy. I wonder how I'm going to change. And if I do, would I change for better or for worse?
In a way, I'm glad that I have left both Dunny and Welly behind. No doubt, I was keen on staying at both places as they are absolutely amazing for dance but to actually stay there? Really? I left both places for different reasons and ironically enough, I'm ending up in a place that doesn't even have dancing. Maybe its a good thing.
But then again, who knows, right? Who knows.
I really like the idea of not having a direct internet connection that I can get to. I also like the fact that I've written 4 blog posts within a relatively short period of time. This is my second time blogging today. I've got a lot to post up when I finally get back online.
But in a way, I'm glad I don't have to deal with Internet.
BUT watch me. As I get into Wellington Airport, the first thing I'll be doing is fumbling for the wireless switch on the laptop and trying to pick up a connection. Which I probably won't get. But will try anyway.
The little screens above the passenger's head in front of me is flashing random trivia questions. And I have to put away this laptop because we're landing in 5 mins time.
Talk soon.

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Here I am, sitting and even possibly slumming it out on a metal bench at the Welly Railway Station. Apparently, there are no trains heading up to Palmy so I have to make do with a train. Last bus ride I took...well, lets just say I left it in a worst state when I first got on.
The sky is a light baby blue. Wisps of cloud whisk by quickly and again, I am reminded of why this city is known as the Windy Capital. The winds are fierce and mercilessly so. I've got about 40 minutes wait or possibly even 10 minutes if the bus comes early.
As I rushed through the city from the airport to the railway station, I thought that I would have missed Wellington. That I would gaze out the window, familiar at the sight and even a bit teary-eyed. Slightly prodigal son come home, kinda thing. But no.
My eyes were dry as a bone and I couldn't care less. Even when the shuttle drove past the Basin Reserve, I can still imagine walking through it to town, to breakfast or lunch, to dinner, to buy groceries, to dance. Memories indeed.
And as we turned up the road going around the Basin, I remembered all the moments I climbed that little incline to go to the Warehouse, for dance practice with the DancingSoftwareDeveloper, to go to Cuba Street for breakfast with the Sociologist.
And passing the flat....sigh.
In all honesty, I am glad I am not living there anymore. In all honesty, as much as that is "home" in a way and I actually still have a box of things there that I need to pick up, I'm glad this, Welly, is no more called home.
Sis mentioned off-handedly to me that she was proud of how I seemed to travel everywhere on my own, expanding out and heading off elsewhere rather than just Dunny which has been her home for the past 8 years. Truth to tell, I was always a bit of a quiet, self-keeping introvert who would rather stay home and be "at home" rather than head out and start adventuring. And to be perfectly honest, I've always been a bit of a mummy's boy.
But my first step out of Dunny which led me to Welly last year was probably the best thing I could have done, I felt. I learnt to live on my own and deal with things on my own. A lot of...what I would like to term "hoohaas". Apparently, one thing that pissed people off more than I thought it would was my state of cleanliness. Yup...that still needs a bit of taking care of.
And after that first step, I felt that I was ready to head off elsewhere.
Had a chat to Dad yesterday on the phone while he was in the City of Sails and he mentioned that I might want to look at heading up that way in a year or two's time. And I was thinking about it too. After all, the better the weather, the better my health. I'm that kinda guy. No winters for me, please. Snowmen and snow can stay in the fridge or the Artic Circle.
Its very surreal, still. I'm here, in Welly, sitting on a cold, green (I think its green...maybe bluish green?) bench and typing this and waiting for my bus further north to get here.
Me, the adventurer. Very Indiana Jones. Now all I need is a dusty, desert hat, the Holy Grail, and several Nazi military types to beat up.

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Funny that.
Funny how life works in general, for that matter.
Funny that I sat down and the first thing I thought was that this was your seat. Last year.
You sat here, remember?
When you said you got bus-sick on long trips and no one wanted to sit next to you, I did, remember? I even brought a plastic bag, remember?
Don't think you do.
Anyway, a funny though that came to mind was that the last time I rode on this route, I was heading to Levin. Gosh, good times. Or maybe not. It feels really weird and I've slept long enough that the back of my neck hurts now. I'm trying to keep awake. And its kinda working. We're outside a little town known as Otaki and there's a little girl playing Pokemon on her Nintendo Wii. And as half deaf as I am, I can still hear the wee little whistles and jingles as whatever animal it is now fights a baddie. Did I mention she has her earphones on?
I'm pretty keen to keep uploading pictures so that you, dear readers, get a slight idea of what's going on. But I think, as they say, that a picture is worth a thousand words so to completely challenge my literary skills, I'll try and make up that quota. Actually, come to think of it, I probably have about two to three good pictures now? +)
And come to think of it, I have a habit of speaking too soon. I'm now staring at the New World in Levin where I last swore to the Brit that I never want to see again. Oh well...tough shit.
Another hour or so to Palmy then. Looks like I'll be arriving early evening. Thank goodness for summery months where the sun sets at 10 instead of 5.

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Odd.
I'm in a room that's probably more suited for a couple. Double bed, with red satin sheets. Relatively wrong considering I'm on my own. It's been a while.
Well, not really. I've never been in THAT kinda situation before. But you know, yeah...
Its 12.09a.m. and I'm in some random place above a bar. Well, not really random either. The bar offers accommodation so I'm taking it. Beggars can't be choosers, right? But then again, I'm not really begging. Shit, I'm not making any sense anymore, am I?
And I really don't like this keyboard. I feel as though I have to stretch for everything. Fingers are feeling a bit odd for that matter. But then again, I guess I have to make do with this new keyboard since I'll be switching between mini and mega.
There's something really rustic about blogging on Notepad. Especially since there's no frills attached and everything is made really really simple. And like, there's no chance of attaching pictures so basically, its the words that keep readers reading.
Its a cold night tonight. Well, not exactly cold. But its fricking hot in the room and my window is opened up wide. Took a few pictures. What's quite awesome is that my room leads to a balcony and there's a street lamp casting beautiful shadows.
I don't feel like going to sleep tonight but I know I need to. I know that tomorrows going to be a big day for me, what with meeting everyone and getting to know the hospital and all. I still don't want to go to sleep. I want to keep awake. I am still, after all, a creature of the night.
On a completely different note...
You don't deserve this. You don't deserve to take the shit that my life brings along with me. I know. I'm sorry. As much as I would like to make your life that much better, I can't. Because I know I don't want to make your life miserable. I have lived a life that I think is flawed in more ways than one. And asking for redemption doesn't seem to quite do it.
Forgiveness. Just another concept.
We're only human, after all. Asking for forgiveness sometimes seems nigh impossible. And to give it...well. If I wouldn't give it, I highly doubt someone else will. And I am a pretty forgiving guy. Except for some people.
Huh.
You know what would make this night a little bit better?
A rich, red, tango. Outside. Right now. Right here. On the streets. On the balcony. Where we dance to the bandoneon and the piano and the strings as they play a soulful, mellow, melody. Where we move and the steps don't count. The beat doesn't count. Forget the beat. Just move. With me. As one person. One body. One soul.
Feel the passion with me. Feel the richness of the music as its melancholic aura washes over you. Making you clean. Drenching you in the romance of the moment.
Make it happen. With me.
Right here. Right now.
What's life without a little spontaneity, eh?

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Today is the day.
Today is the day that I turn up at the door and get acquainted with my new life.
Gosh, I'm a bit excited.
But here, I sit, waking up at the ungodly time of 8.18a.m. when I actually slept at 2 the night before. I'm going to be extremely tired tonight. And I really am not looking forward to starting work on time. Bleh.
The weather is a bit overcast today. Streaks of grey mixed with the baby blue of yesterday. The roads are very quiet. This is Palmy North on New Year's. Um. Yeah.
Current itinerary for today consists of me getting a coach up to Wangy and getting dropped off at the hospital so I can say hello. I'm quite looking forward to it.
But first, breakfast. And then I'll blog if I feel like it.
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Just because its me.
As I walked around WangyWangy today, I got three different kind of greetings from complete strangers.
One was a big native dude who mouthed out, "Hey, Ching Chong, why don't you go back to your own country!" while pedalling on what looked like a little kid's bike. Jerkoff.
Second was a white short car which honked, albeit in a rather friendly way and a woman sitting in the front seat waved to me as though she has never seen an Asian person before.
Third was a car that honked in a relatively menacing way, in the kind of way that makes you jump as you don't expect it and them grinning as they zoom past you.
Why, oh why, do I need to get such treatment?
To the dude on the bike, I would have shouted, "I contribute more to this country than you on the dole, fuckface!" But of course, I didn't want to die so soon. And I did promise family that I would take care of myself when I live here alone.
To the two others in their cars, I wish I had a Bigfoot that I could use to crush them underneath my monster wheels. But that is fantasy too. And I might need to add that I don't drive. Oh the shame.
I'm currently rewatching Chuck Palahnik's "Fight Club". There's something very moving and very psychological about it. It technically can be used as something for modern literature dissection. Hm.
A pretty useful line.
Its only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything - Tyler Durden
Its true, isn't it?
I have just finished watching the scene where Tyler takes a convenience store owner out back and threatens to kill him if the owner does not go and pursue past dream of becoming a vet.
And the scene where Tyler drives into the opposite lane and asks if you were going to die, what would you have wished you had done.
What would you wish you had done?
Or am I just becoming too bohemian right now? Too hippy? Too philosophical? Too...bullshit?
Is it true that after everything has been taken away from you, then you are free to do whatever you want?
Can a parallel truth be drawn from the fact that we need to be truly broken in order to be able to have total dependence on God? Or a deity if you believe otherwise?
Or shall we draw the idea that we need to stop caring? Or stop living? To die. In order to live.
Man, this is getting nowhere. Or maybe its heading someplace but its not making any sense at all.
In the event of this happening, I'm going to bed.

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So work wasn't as bad as I thought. Although I did wish deep down inside that I was so much more busier than I
actually was. I kept dozing off reading Brukner and Khan this afternoon. Boring stuff, really.
I'm still "internetless". Oh dear. I thought that when I started a job, I would have internet access at the tips of
my fingers and I would be able to blog like crazy. But oh, no, I'm still stuck on Notepad and typing this on my
laptop. In that case, I might as well just stop blogging since I'll be doing all of this on Notepad anyway. And its
wayy more accessible compared to an internet connection.
My colleagues are nice, friendly, and they try and make me feel as welcome as possible. Which is really good.
I'm still trying to cope with getting used to the hospital setting and what not. I'm going to be seeing my first
real patient on Thursday morning. 44 year old lady, should be interesting one way or another.
You know, I actually think that I've become more boring once I've started working. I know of many bloggers who
literally swear to stop blogging once they start work because they're in a different mindset. And all that jazz,
anyway.
Work tires you out. It tires me out anyway. When I got home, all I could really do was just sit and stare at the
computer screen. Played Diablo II for about half an hour and then went to bed. And woke up to various phone calls
from friends and family and then went back to bed again. What a day.
If this is working life for the rest of my life, someone shoot me. Now. Pweese?

The things you never say.

Don't ask. Don't let them know.

Don't let them know that you're struggling. Like hell, you've got one heck of a caseload and they expect you to be able to treat it and deal with it like a professional. Oh, you get the odd question tossed at you about how you're doing and whether you're managing all right and you smile and nod and tell them that you're getting back into things and that you're doing "okay." *grin*

But toss neurological conditions and people getting wobbly and falling over and expect me to summon up knowledge in a heartbeat? I seriously feel I'm so not into this. I'm not even sure if this is me.

Mrs So-and-so asked me, "Do you like physiotherapy?"

And all I can say is, "Its interesting....yeah, the things you see, you know..."

I think that is seriously sad.

I am grateful for the opportunity of a job and the ability to live and work like a professional. But I feel so inadequately prepared as well as overloaded with work. I'm not sure.

I'm not sure anymore.

I guess the prep for work comes from my part. Seriously didn't think that work would be this busy. Tomorrow, I have one FCUKING workload to get through just to survive the day. Hoping I don't die and crack in the middle of it all would be challenge I would like to see myself get through.

I desperately need to learn how to dance/go for dance again. I need to find some serenity in the madness of the working world.

I sit here.

Its 12.25pm on a Sunday morning. I woke up at 9-ish in the morning and lounged in bed, thinking. And thinking. And thinking.

And then I got my arse out of bed, decided to have breakfast which consisted of the same thing that I ate for breakfast, lunch, and dinner yesterday just because I can't be arsed to get the stove going and cooking and then I went to the gym. Had a heck of a workout, just probably cos I was more sore than I realised and I had to stop until my ears unblocked a little bit and my eyes stopped seeing stars and until I could swallow the vomit before I continued on my next set of pushups.

I am so unfit I feel like a rhinoceros.

But I got a workout in. A start, at least. I've been to the gym twice this week so hey, good start to the year, right? I'm going to try going more often.

Man, I'm feeling the fatigue set in already. Shit.

To readers expecting a story or something at least mildly more exciting than what I have written here, I'm sorry ya. Creative juices have currently run dry. And all the ideas for the "best stories" have currently run off somewhere to have a good summer.

I'm not really sure what I'm doing. I'm just living this day to day.

Oh yeah, I watched "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button." It was good. Quite philosophical and there were parts that makes you think about what you would do.

There was a part that Brad Pitt mentioned to his daughter that she should always know that she has the power to change her life or make it better. And that she should be happy with life. And if she wasn't happy with it, that she had a choice to make it better if she wanted to. And that she could. So that she can be happy with life.

And I look at my own worked hands and I look at what my life is right now. To say that I'm truly happy...not really. WangyWangy has this much to offer. I'm not exactly sure I'm satisfied. But then again, what's life? I've just started adulthood and working and living it.

I have this power, this opportunity and this ability to change life as I see fit. As I want to make it happen.

I'll see how things go. Let's see what the first two years have to offer. Sometimes, to say that I'm already disappointed with life is a sweeping statement. Just because I've not exactly experienced life. I've just tasted it on the tip on my tongue and I think I'm qualified to say that I know all about it.

Well, I've taken a sip. Its about time now that I take a gulp.

Once again.

Maybe I should go
And leave you two alone
Maybe I should say
I never loved you anyway
But I can't lie to my heart
I can't hide all this pain I feel inside

Tell me what I gotta do
To make you see how much I care for you
Tell me what I gotta say
To take your breath away
What do I have to do if I just want to win your love again
Maybe it's impossible.

A song from one of my more emo moments. Believe it or not, I wrote this when I was fantasising about this girl I had a crush on cheating on me. What an imagination.

Its quiet in the department now. Everyone's gone home for the weekend and everyone's obviously happy beyond compare that its the weekend and that they have two days to themselves to do whatever they like.

And I'm sitting here writing patients' notes. How sad.

I'm heading off to the gym again tonight. I feel like treating myself to a good meal somewhere but I honestly have no idea where to go. Maybe even a movie. YES Man seems pretty good. But then again, do I really want to pay to watch Jim Carrey on a big screen?

Gosh. I've survived my first week at work. How bizarre how bizarre.

And in a way, I feel that I've grown up a little bit more now. You know, having to face work and whatnot and dealing with all that stuff. Just a little bit more a man. +)

Just a little bit more.

yesterday we had some rain...
but all in all, I can't complain

I really can't. Weather's all right. I'm doing well. My colleagues are nice. I did wish I had internet at home, though. I could do so much more with internet at home.

I'm no longer a really interesting blogger, I must say. Bleh, I'm bored.

I'm going for dinner.

DOMS (Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness)

I've reached Blog entry no.12 on Notepad. I really really should start posting them up. I know, I can do it when I finally get myself a flash drive and I can put them up when I come to work! You know, entertain my readers kinda thing. Blehh.

Oh man, I am so sore its not funny. Yours truly decided to think that he was extremely unfit (I swear, the button on my pants keep popping open for no reason *suck tummy in*) and decided to go to the local gym. There, he did back squats and other torturous things just for the sake of looking like Matus Valent and then ended up walking with legs wide open as though he had wrapped his legs around a giant concrete tube and held it there for 8 hours on end.

I took 2 minutes to walk up the stairs this morning. And getting up was pure torture. I was even aiming for a run. Sweet gorgeous stuff, why do humans do these things to themselves?

I need a social life. I need social interaction. And believe it or not, I come to work because that's pretty much the main face to face I get everyday. Living alone in a large 10 room house with a creepy Mona Lisa in the dining room that has no real functioning light bulb is slightly...just slightly scary.

And I watch horror for the fun of it.

Oh wells. Off to work. Again. Tata.

Om.

Peace, peace, peace.

Its 8.50a.m. and I've been at work for an hour. Boy, I'm keen. Never thought I'd be the first one in the department but here I am, and on my own TOO!

I've still got all my blog entries at home on different computers. I should go and sort them out and get them posted.

Its quite interesting to read all of them now. They pretty much detail what happened the night on New Year's Eve all the way to sporadic posts written on buses and planes on the way here to Wangy. Good times, really. Its a journey of life, as it goes and it can only get better. Or worse. Depending on which way the weather vane turns.

The Sociologist wrote on her blog that God = happiness. And I did think about that for a bit. If God was happiness....does that mean that He is the true form of happiness that everyone seeks? And lets say, for the Christian faith, we say this is true. In that case, everyone is searching for happiness in the wrong places.

But what if God doesn't really work out that well for me? What about all those people who are happy even without God? In that respect, the Sociologist did mention to me that God is still holding it all in place and without Him, everything will turn to crap.

As it goes, blessings don't only fall on the believers. God is fair and just. So even the unbelievers get a dose of His goodness.

I commented regarding this saying that if someone can draw a parallel between God and passionate, lust-inducing dancing to please let me know how that is done. Or perhaps, that will never happen. Because of the fact that lust is a sin and God not = sin (cos theta).

Now that is one fcuked up equation, I tell you. Probably worse than solving the meaning of life and all that other philosophical jargony thingies.

Right. Better get off to work then. Tata.

Ahem.

So I am here. In Wangy.

Me is bored, can you tell? I've blogged a lot but its all on my laptop and its on Notepad. So all good. I'm waiting for inspiration.

Believe it or not, when I'm here, I've completely all motivation to blog. I'm thinking to myself, "SHIT." Now what do I do?

So, just to recap all that has happened to me, I've currently moved up. And then found a place to stay on Friday. This is Day 3 in Wangy.

Tomorrow, I start work. And yeah, I'm all right with it. To say that I'm scared shitless will NOT exactly be true either. I'm just...meh about the whole thing now.

I remembered blogging last night and saying that I was dying thinking of all the emails that have FLOODED my inbox and that I had to clear it desperately if only I could find internet access.

So I logged in and lo! and behold...2 emails.

I'm sooo loved right now.

But anyway, life has been interesting.

And I've not uttered these words for a long time...but God is good. God has been faithful. And God has taken care of me.

Thank you, Big Guy.

Another lifesaver - they have SALSA here! YES!

I think I'm going to like it here. Weather has been blistering and sometimes, not in a good way. I voluntarily took a cold shower a few days ago because I was just pouring with sweat after a 10 minute walk.

Long term, though? That would be an interesting question. Post this to me at the end of the year, eh?

Well, my time on the comp is up. Will keep ya'll posted.