You know what I did last weekend?

So last weekend was spent down in Palmy along with the Redhead where we choreographed half the dance routine and then danced pretty much for 3 days straight at various events and whathaveyou.

Sunday morning, we decided to join the ceroc group to showcase ceroc to the general public and we danced on Esplanade Day.

Do not be fooled by the glorious sunshine. The Redhead and I both got soaked dancing in the rain when we first started out. And then it continued to rain intermittently throughout the morning until it decided to clear up and everyone got dry.

Some fun rides to try out and heaps of food that was guaranteed to spoil appetite, as mums would admonish.

And hello, hello, the big star of the day was Ronald McDonald. Although I was very disappointed when he showed up with his hair nicely wavey. I thought he was meant to have a fricking afro! What happened to the Ronald of my day and age?

Ronny McDonny keeping the children mesmerised, as can be obviously seen. Some adults who didn't really get much of a childhood either joined in.

Blatant advertising going on, talking about how Maccas supports sports and they talked about the Olympic Games and singing about how you should "make it click!" when you're in the car, and it makes no difference if you're going near or far.

This was last night's dinner. After seeing chicken breasts on special for $11.99 per kilo which is the cheapest I've seen it in a long long long time, I decided to get a pack of three and roasted/baked two of them with orange peppers and red onions. Seasoning consisted of plain olive oil, salt, and pepper. Nothing fancy. I drizzled olive oil over the veges as well and to be health freak complete, I had steamed green beans. No salt, just steamed green beans.

I know, I know. *pats self on back*

And dear Lord, the chicken was good for lunch this afternoon with brown rice.

This weekend entails a day and night of dance extraordinaire in good ole' Welly.

Further photos to be posted up.

Have a good weekend everyone. And don't do what I won't do.

Tongue-tied

I'm not too sure what to write this morning.

 

Logging into my Gmail account and pressing "C" for the keyboard shortcut that brings up the blank email template and typing in "[insert personalised email to blogger]@blogger.com", I sit here, wondering what on earth I'm going to write this morning.

 

So thus, the title.

 

The day has started well so far. Patients are coming in, feeling better, looking better, and improving overall. I'm glad for that. Its the days when patients don't make any improvements or I have to send them away because I just can't treat them is the ones that get me down just a little. And paperwork. Dear lord, paperwork.

 

I went to the gym today, in a long time. It was good to get back again and lift heavy objects for no particular reason.

Had dance yesterday too, which was really good. Enjoyed myself and yeah, it was good to do ballroom. Learnt the foxtrot yesterday and complained more often than not about the diffculty of the heel-toe-toe-toe-heel steps, feather, reverse turn, feather, 3 step, into natural turn...bleh. Telemark. Or something or rather. And body rotations makes it all the more difficult. Remember the feet, forget the body and vice versa. I sometimes feel as though I'm doing ballet instead. And my balance is shocking. I need to practice spinning on my toes wayy more often.

 

But all in all, today is starting off on the right foot. [no pun intended]

 

When there are lines on my face

 

Funny, to think of the idea of growing old with someone. In some ways, I don't think I'm made for a relationship. Going solo is always so much easier. Just you and you yourself to take care of.

 

From a lifetime of smiles

 

And to imagine having to live, laugh, learn, love with another person for the rest of your life. Really? To see their visage change from a young and pimply to old and wrinkly and still love them exactly the same for the beautiful person they are inside. Really?

 

And when the time comes to embrace

 

And imagine having to go on life alone when they pass on. Or imagining them having to go through life alone when you bid them farewell.

 

For one long last while

 

Imagine.

 

We can laugh about how time really flies

 

A lifetime. Nearly at its end. And spending it all, gladly, voluntarily, willingly, joyously, delightfully, wonderfully...

 

We won't say goodbye 'cos true love never dies

 

With you.

 

You'll always be beautiful....

 

Yes. Funny that, isn't it? Love is blind, so they say. But why bother seeing when you're in love?

 

In my eyes

 

I might just end this here. I don't want to spoil the magic of people gagging and puking into their wastepaper baskets as they read this.

+DDDD

Energy

I'm a bit better today. Still woke up more tired than I wanted to be. And I'm surviving. Day to day, really. You know, the kind that you do because you have to, rather than you want to.

Only jewel in my dead dead day is silver ballroom.

Oh, because I was in such a foul mood, I failed to mention (actually, even mentioning it didn't change a single iota of my incredibly nasty mood) that I met my new ballroom dance partner, LatinLady. Apparently, we're going for preliminary competitions in May. Yeah, tell me about it.

So I'll be meeting up with her and training more consistently, I hope. Still busy with Kapi-Hutt Champs for the moment but besides that, I think I'm doing okay. But doing comps also means that I'll have to step up my level of latin and possibly even new vogue and old time. Ugh. I'm looking at around 3 hours ballroom every week. And that's not even supervised practice time. Add technique on to that and I've probably bitten off more than I can chew.

Huh.

Anyway, patient now.

Today is a day...

That I cannot really be bothered with anything. My eyes are tired, I'm sleepy, I'm more than willing to head to bed and crash rather than get a workout done like I'm supposed to. I'm just tired. And I'm not too sure why.

 

Perhaps its the fact that I slept late last night. 11.30pm? Late? Seriously la, Pau Ayam, why you so like that one?

 

And not to mention tomorrow's schedule...

 

If I'm not mistaken and all of them turn up, I'll be seeing 11 patients. There is no way in hell I'm getting to silver ballroom classes on time.

 

But perhaps that's the way to go. If, say, I leave work at 4.30pm, I leave work and I don't think about it and its over then. I'll have to work on that. But I'm just a little tired now. It has been a day that I've not eaten enough, I could have slept more last night, I could even have possibly finished the "Do you dream of me?" routine, I could have done so much more and been so much more productive and yet...here I sit procrastinating again. What's new, isn't it?

 

Life's all about choices for the moment. Life is all about trying to get something done. I've got all these choices sitting in front of me and yet, at this point in time, I don't even want to take it. I just want to turn away and run. And disappear.

 

If you can dream and not make dreams your master - Rudyard Kipling.

 

To be in control of your dreams. To be in control of the dreams that you want so badly to happen. That you want to materialise rather than be little bits and pieces of your fragmented imagination.

 

I sit here and I glance at the subtitle of this blog and I find it hilariously sarcastic and ironic to a T.

 

Life begins when you want it to. Oh really now?

 

No doubt, no doubt, life starts when you say it does. It begins when you say "Yes." It begins when you say, "I QUIT", or "I'm sorry" or anything that perhaps comes to mind that brings forward acceptance, belonging, apologies, surrender, forgiveness, love.

 

But you know, sometimes, life just goes on without you. Yes, it tends to do that. And it happens more often than not.

 

What about a new subtitle?

 

"Life begins without you. Its time to catch up."

 

"Life doesn't need to wait for you. You're losing out by letting Life pass you by."

 

"Life begins when your sorry arse is buried six feet under."

 

"Life begins when you've finally gotten all your dog dung together."

 

"Life has already begun. In fact, its already ended. And where were you?"

 

"Life? You do mean life?"

 

"Life or death? That is the question..."

 

"Ah yes, Life. Only for some, my friend. Sometimes, only the lucky ones get it."

 

"Life? Waiting for you? You sure you meant life, right?"

 

"Life begins when you want it to. Where in Hades did you learn THAT from?"

 

Anyway. That's life.

Brutal honesty

There is actually no such thing as brutal honesty with other people.

 

The only person you can be brutally honest with is yourself.

 

Because in this world, we care too much about what other people think, want, discuss, feel, that we end up censoring ourselves. We end up with a make believer filter sitting right in front of us all the time that we speak into.

 

The only uncensored bunch of words that we talk is to ourselves. We beat ourselves up, we thrash ourselves around in our own self pity, we discuss hidden little secrets amongst our alter egos and plot and scheme and hatch little plans. We laugh with ourselves, we have fun. We speak honestly. We don't care about our feelings because it is ours. We know how fast we heal when we go through a tough patch, we know how to make ourselves feel better, we know exactly what is required for release. We know how to make a bad thing go away. And go away quickly. We know if we have arguments or confusing thoughts to work out and we sit there and think about it and sooner or later, we get around to something and we're able to make things all the more better for the sake of it.

 

As long as I have my hands around your throat, you're at my mercy.

Dance floor anthem.

Why can't I just make it easy and call it what it is?

We break up
Its something that we do now
Everyone has gotta do it sometime
Its okay
Let it go
Get out there and find someone

It's too late to be trippin' on the phone here
Get off the wire, you know everything is good here
Stop what you're doin, you don't wanna ruin
The chance that you've got to find a new one

Everybody
Put up your hands
Say I don't wanna be in love
I don't wanna be in love

Feel the beat now
If you've got nothing left
Say I don't wanna be in love
I don't wanna be in love

Back it up now
You got a reason to live
Say I don't wanna be in love
I don't wanna be in love

Feelin' good now
Don't be a afraid to get down
Sing I don't wanna be in love
I don't wanna be in love

Try stopping that after that's been pounding in your head for the last 12 hours.

There is something wrong.

Because yesterday, I was literally in hulk rage.

 

When something is wrong with me, there are usually some very easy fixes I can look at to immediately fix the problem. Includes dancing (of the partner sort, usually), pR0n, copious packets of indomie, KFC in an invariably large amount as well, and a good good workout. I feel drained (in more ways than one), my head is full, my stomach is full, and I'm satiated (in more ways than one.)

 

But there is something very very wrong when all of the above fail to changed a fcuking nasty mood I was in yesterday. I went to bed still virtually steaming after a hot shower. It didn't work, as you can tell. I was desperate to the point I wanted to run for 5km at 11pm at night.

 

Sh|t.

Anyway. ICU meeting now.

Snore.

It was a great weekend and one that I'm feeling slightly tired from.

But it was all good.

Plenty of dancing on all three days, 2a.m. sleeps and 9am wake up calls and more and more dancing. Plus, an awesome routine coming up and I'm feeling confident that we can make something out of this routine. I'm determined to make at least 5 people tear up and at least 1 person cry when I dance this.

Its different, something less dance-y and more emotion-y and oh dear lord, I think I might be on to something. I can't wait.

Tonight's dinner consists of whatever I can chuck in the microwave and cook without having to stand there and stir. Oh wait, there's steak that I'm going to have because I think it went bad yesterday but oh well. Everything else to be boiled/steamed. And rice. Uh. Yeah. I'm yawning so much I look like a hippo.

I'm off to dinner and perhaps and early night tonight. Tomorrow is going to be absolutely crap.

Fingers crossed for me.

Its the little things

No, they aren't lice eggs or anything of the sort. 

They're yoghurt coated raisins in my muesli. This was taken at work at 8ish in the morning as I have breakfast at work now all because it shaves 3 minutes off having to eat breakfast at home.

And they're my little joys in the morning. Biting into one, feeling the sweetness of the yoghurt and raisin combined makes my morning just a little brighter. Of course, the caffeine from the following cup of coffee helps but lets just put that aside, shall we?

And spending the weekend with the Redhead has opened my eyes to the interesting world of gluten free, dairy free, vegan pancakes. They have a certain distinct taste about them that I can't really put my finger on. But then again, we're looking at egg free pancakes. No bacon to go with it then. But then again, I've been eating healthy every time I come down. And perhaps its good for me. I'm getting more veges in a single meal here than I probably get throughout an entire week. Hah.

This weekend is full of dance. Man, I don't think I've ever danced like this consecutively for days! Although I probably need to mention that we have a dance competition in 5 weeks time and the routine has changed and we're dancing to a heartbreaking "Do you dream of me?" by Michael W. Smith.

Should be all good. I'm looking forward to it.

But yes, it is late and I shall head to bed.

See.

To see the world in a grain of sand
And heaven in a wildflower
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour. - William Blake

 

I've never personally studied this poem although Googling "To see the world in a grain of sand" does make me quite interested now. Brings me back to the good ole days where we dissected every bit of English Literature that we came across. To date, Othello would still be my favourite Shakespearean play. Who could forget "honest" Iago or the innocent Moor Othello and the lovely lady Desdemona? A must read for anyone, really.

 

Funny, reading on from William Blake's "Auguries of Innocence" which is where the famous first stanza came from, there is a verse that reads

 

Some are born to sweet delight
Some are born to endless night

 

Funny, that, isn't it?

 

In a little way, I want to be like V from "V for Vendetta" who quotes English literature off the top of his head. How charming is that.

 

But anyway, I must be going.

Dance for me.

Dance is blood for me. It flows within me and through my hands and feet and out through my hips and shoulders. My lips spout dance phrases, my hands wave and make patterns in the air, my feet draw elegant circles on the floor. I rise and I fall. It makes me feel alive.

So how, can you ask me to leave? How do you ask me to leave dance behind? How do you ask me to forget something as simple and yet as complex as moving to one song, to one bar of music, to paint a picture, to express sensuality, sexuality, passion, anger, avoidance, uncertainty, in just one dance?

Dance and get lost. Literally.

***

One a completely different note, I have sworn that I wouldn't be desperate enough to come to the hospital library and use the free internet access after work. Wanna guess where I am right now?

I'm supposed to be figuring out the routine for the dance. And as my usual lazy self, I need a bit of a kick to get started. Huh.

Turning the music on always gives me a bit of a start though.

Um. Yeah.

Review in progress.

Now, I sneakily sent off my blog yesterday after clicking and clicking and clicking on some links. And I chanced upon a blog reviewing site with a kick-ass (literally) name.

 

They are a bunch of bloggers who review blogs submitted to them. I would personally shudder to think of how many blogs they would have to go through in an average day.

 

But apart from that, I sent it off, having read the disclaimer and whatnot and psyching up myself for a literal prostate examination in a few weeks time.

 

Um. Yeah.

 

***

In other news...

 

The waltz is a b|tch on the ankles and my toes. I feel as though I've stubbed my toes repeatedly against the bedroom door. But my eyes have opened and I smack myself on the head and wonder how I could have not done ballroom for an entire year. The silver bar routine is enchanting. Literally.

 

I even spent time revising it yesterday after class. Awesome.

 

But oh well. Patient soon.

Just to be sure.

Now this is SPECIFICALLY for you,  Sociologist.

 

Since you thought he was SOOOO cute the last time round, check this one out.

 

Now this should change your mind....+D

 

Or not. Or maybe you're more of a grrrl than I thought.

Di persimpangan dilema

Masa berlalu
Tanpaku menyedari
Percintaan yang kita bina
Hampir terlerai

Apa salahku
Kau buatku begini
Dalam dilema

Di antara jalan derita

 

Tidak pernah ku duga
Ini semua terjadi
Woah..

 

Janganlah engkau
Menghancurkan segala
Setelah lama
Kita mengharungi bersama

Usah biarkan
Cinta kita yang suci
Dilambung ombak
Karam di lautan berduri

Hanya satu pintaku
Moga kau menginsafi
Woah..

 

Telah banyak yang kuberi
Sejak dulu lagi
Pengorbanan tiada
Pernah jemu

 

Hanyalah Tuhan saja

Bisa menentukan semua

Kesabaran daku menantimu
Woah
Ku tetap memaafkan
Dan berdoa kau kembali
Sebelum diri

Melangkah pergi...

 

Highly recommended. Honestly to God, one of the best songs I've ever heard from an artist of this genre. For those of can't understand, its all right. Its puke inducing anyway. +D

 

Hahaha, believe it or not, I was painfully climbing up the stairs again when I thought to myself, "Screw it. I can't do without internet." And this baobei of mine here can't live without me. Muaks. (kisses top of blog's header. See what I did there? +)

 

I'm stuck in a bit of a dilemma at the current moment. I'm not sure what to do. Tossing a coin seems too easy. But we'll see. Give it a month or so and we'll see where we land up.

 

I honestly can not be screwed to look at going to ballroom classes today.

Roses.

Oh, before I forget. Love is forgiveness. Add one more to definitions.

For three years, I had roses, and apologised to no one. - Valerie, V for Vendetta

Now the Sociologist has suggested that I take an "internet" free year. I'm considering the possibilities. Imagine, me blogging on my laptop for a year and then putting it up online in a span of an hour. How awesome that would be.

So as I keep considering the option of NOT blogging....

In botanical news, scientists have spliced genomes to the point that they have discovered how to create blue roses. Now this took place in 2007 and so next time you get blue roses, be comforted by the fact that blue food colouring had no role to play in this, rather, it grew from the bush in someone's backyard.

Hm. I'll have a think about the idea of not blogging. Very tempting, really. And being able to do it all on my laptop tempts me even more. Imagine the possibilities indeed.

L-O-V-E 2

So I've managed to gather some answers from people around me, kind enough to provide me with a solid, workable answer. Well, solid and workable, in my opinion, anyway.

 

The Sociologist brainstorms love as pleasure, delight, wonder. And that God is love and sometimes, its God that allows you to love rather than loving out of the abscesses of your heart. Because we're human that way and we're imperfect like that. Or so I understand from what the Sociologist has supplied in terms of an answer.

 

Tofupuff was the one who threw the words "sacrifice" and "commitment" at me and she mentioned as well that love means to be with someone. To be there and understand a person and what the person is all about. What I understand from this is the need to understand and still appreciate someone for what they are, to be non-judgmental. So there is commitment as well.

 

Dory has kindly commented in my blog previously regarding this issue in the form of a song.

 

Love is not a place
To come and go as we please
It's a house we enter in
And then commit to never leave

Lock the door behind you
Throw away the key
We'll work it out together
Let it bring us to our knees

Love is a shelter in the raging storm
Love is peace in the middle of a war
If we try to leave, may God send His angels to guard the door
No, love is not a fight but it's something worth fighting for

To some, love is a word
That they can fall into
But when they're falling out
Keeping that word is hard to do

Love will come to save us
If we'll only call
He will ask nothing of us
But demand we give our all

I will fight for you
Would you fight for me?
It's worth fighting for

- Love is Not a Fight by Warren Barfield

So love is not a fight. It is shelter, it is peace. It is a house that we commit to. [Commitment again]

 

Its sacrifice. That's where we work it out together.

 

And I just got this from the Sociologist recently.

 

"Love is always about giving up control, and people are trained to think of taking control—even of God. In my experience, most people would sooner be afraid and in control than in love and out of control."  Richard Rohr

 

Now what do you think? Love is about giving up control?

 

Does love mean giving up control? Does "I love you" mean "I cede control of my feelings over to you?" Or maybe not feelings but something else, maybe? The physical, mental, and spiritual surrender? Does love in the sense of giving up control only apply in the terms of God? Or does it mean in terms of man as well? 

 

"Most people would sooner be afraid and in control than in love and out of control." 

 

From personal experience, the feeling of being "in love" and "out of control" was one that I jumped into heartily, eyes shut tight with excitement and heart wide open. But then once it hurts, you step back, eyes wide open and heart bruised and closed to all open advances, wary and suspicious. Isn't that human nature to act like that? Pain is a reflex. If it hurts, don't bloody do it. 

 

A blogger from back home just found love. And it brings back a lot of memories.

Yes, I was in love. Yes, I was in a song writing, poetry spouting mode for months. I could write stuff that would give you diabetes if you read it. Or puke, if you were romance-allergic. I would go around smiling to myself because I was so happy. She made me happy.

 

But its a different story now, isn't it? Or maybe, just maybe, when I find that one person, I will be happy again. I will be in love and I will give up control of my life. 

 

But it feels like a different story. It reads like a different story.

 

And how do you write a prologue to a story that you don't know is even going to happen yet?

Photo Gallery - long delayed.

This is a scene from the inside of the Dunny Town Hall, where I graduated and I marched across the stage wearing Harry Potter-ish gown and flat hat. The brown stuff is, believe it or not, a HUUGE pipe organ that was being played at the beginning of the graduation ceremony. I thought it overrated but there is a certain pride you feel when you do cross the stage for real and get that piece of paper that I failed consistently for three years for.

Graduation tickets, as you can tell. Three for inside the hall and 2 for the overflow room. Parents were apparently sitting right above me. I waved to them but they didn't see. And honestly, graduation ceremony damn sian one. I fell asleep and so did my brother who came to watch.


The Botanical Gardens river. I remembered looking at this river three years earlier when the Higher Authorities dragged me out to discuss my love life. Unpleasant enough. And it was too shallow for suicide. What's around the riverbend, eh?

Cromwell. Beautiful Cromwell. If I had known that postcards were taken here...now, see the reflection of the trees in the lake? You wouldn't have guessed.



This was atop one of the hills that looked out over the Remarkables, if I'm not mistaken. I took this just because my camera phone can and its awesome that way. Awesome, isn't it?



I filled in my first real job application. And for real this time. No play play anymore. Its the real deal.



A signboard that made me appreciate the little things in life. It stood outside a health shop near the Supermarket where I used to work in the Butchery.




This was the last night I worked at the Butchery and I called it a day. If you look carefully, the white speck is a star. I really like this picture for some reason.


Wangy's ACC Master's Games Dancesport competitions. A whirlwind of ballroom and latin. Absolutely fantastic.


Heat arrangements. Too many couples and too little floor space.

A countercheck. For all those people who say that ballroom is boring and unexciting, this is as romantic as it gets. Look at the lines. Gosh.

But anyway, this is end of a picturesque post. Back to the 1000 words makes a picture post.

L-O-V-E

No. no. For those of me who know me better, this ain't some romantic puke-inducing post. Rather, a more poignant, thought inducing post than I would have liked. I typed this last night shortly before midnight and my eyelids were drooping like crazy. And blessedly enough, I went straight to sleep right after that.

 

Now, a lot of my blog posts usually results from conversations that I have with people or with myself. So as you can tell, I talked a lot to a lot of people and found out a lot of people are quite bloody clueless when you mention love and ask them to define it.

And its probably just my stereotyping going on but I was really expecting a lot of the ladies. Maybe spending a dancing weekend with a slightly depressed friend made it all the more worse for wear than I realised. But she, and other women besides that I put the question to could not come up with something that made me go, "Oh, yeah..."

 

Nothing really made sense so far.

To wax biblical, God is love. Define God, then. Or love. Or whatever in between.

 

To wax an old Honda car ad circa 1991-1992..."Love is good, love is kind, love's a heavenly state of mind, people in love are everywhere, falling in love everywhere, 'cos people love, DRIVING THE HONDA CIVIC."

 

I know. Kill mood, right? Anyway, more serious stuff now.

 

Love: Define it.

Love was the topic of conversation today. And many people were left speechless and puzzled.

Maybe we take the idea of love for granted. Asking one person what does s/he mean by love and you get all different kinds of answers. Or in the case of speechless people, no answers at all. Just, "Uh....."

Two specific words were tossed at me today regarding love. Sacrifice and commitment. But is that really all there is to it?

NO! I can literally hear these words screamed at me by readers. There's a lot more to love than just that.

Funny how something like the topic of love can be so...controversial, isn't it?

Coming from a Christian background, Love was defined in 1 Corinthians Chapter 4 verse 23, if I'm not mistaken. For those of you who do share the same background, its a familiar verse. And for those of you who don't, you probably would have heard this anyway. The whole "Love is good, love is kind, it does not judge..." and so on and so forth.

But then again, all these words like "good" and "kind" and "does not judge" is still pretty open for interpretation, isn't it? If someone quotes the definition of love as above, I would like them to also define "good", "kind", "does not judge" and all that other bits and pieces of it.

Does good mean good  or "not bad" or does it mean that something is all right? Or it is pure and holy, to chuck in some biblical terms, for that matter?

What about kind then? Is it helping do the dishes when your other half is busy? Closing the door quietly and sneaking around the house when the other half is sleeping? Staying up late at night to nurse a sick child? Is being kind to mean being considerate?

Now, does not judge? Is it a racial thing? A prejudice thing? A notion to decrease preconception of ideas and stigmas and stereotypes?

Where do I even begin regarding this topic? I'm haplessly lost already.

Its 4 minutes to midnight. Today is the 15th of February, 2009. Flowers and expensive gifts and dinners and roses and cards and kisses and hugs were all exchanged yesterday and all in the name of Love.

And in celebration of the festival of Love that is celebrated at a worldwide scale, I would like to ask you to define love for me. What is love and what does it mean to you? And what does it mean to say "I love you"?

Oh, walking home today from doing groceries, I looked up in the sky and noticed a broken heart cloud or put in better words, a cloud shaped like a broken heart. Wished I had my phone with me but I went for a run. That was irony, ladies and gentlemen. The cloud, not my lack of a phone.

 

 

It's just me. And coffee.

I think, perhaps, this is more of an autobiography compared to anything else. A little bit about me but more to towards my personality and idiosyncrasies rather than a detailed history of where I was born and when I was born and where did I come from. Life's wayy more interesting than that, don't you think?

 

And funnily enough, this idea came up to me as I stirred coffee this morning in the department kitchen.

 

Coffee has a certain scent, isn't it? Its calming and rejuvenating at the same time and its such a good place to be when you're sniffing coffee in the damn morning. Its a little sign of maturity that you're growing up as I could never really take coffee when I was a kid. When I became semi addicted to coffee when I was 15 and turning my life upside down in preparations for public exams, that was my first love of coffee. The 3-in-1 stuff. Marvellous. I would go through literal boxes of that to the point that mum and dad would have to stop buying them and I would start pestering regarding my lack of caffeine. Come to think of it, I think I lived through that year in a semi-high state. Huh.

 

Coffee has seen me through many breakfasts, random nights cramming for exams, when I got tired of green tea which is supposed to be good for me and milo just became a bit too sweet. I needed the brewing bitterness on the back of my tongue, offset by at least 2 teaspoonful of sugar. Awesome stuff.

 

Through good and bad times, as well, I might add.

 

When I got the worst job in the century working at a petrol station where they served substandard coffee, I would make myself a large mochaccino with extra cocoa sprinkles and more than enough shots of hazelnut syrup to make it a hazelnut drink with coffee rather than a coffee with hazelnut syrup. It was 5.45a.m. in the morning. Cold, wet, and the sun rose slowly. Too slowly. I wore a name tag and a yellow fluorescent jacket to pick up rubbish and unchain the trailers that people would use later that day. I filled gas bottles while customers insulted me and threatened to beat me up if I didn't fill their gas bottles even though it was expired and I legally couldn't do it. When I was more than $300 lacking in my till and I could not figure out a reason why and the BP Bitch gave me sh|t every f**king morning and the alarms went off and I couldn't turn it off and I forgot to switch on the display lights so we officially opened for business an hour late and customers came back, thumping their cups of coffee on the countertop declaring "This is the worst coffee I've ever tasted!" and the boss was so fricking biased and I had to wake up bleary eyed every morning when the alarm rang at 5.30 to wait in the cold so I could open the petrol station and customers' car wash tickets didn't work and the vacuum could not even work well enough to give me a decent b|owj0b and customers came in, demanding their money back and they had expired items and I didn't even stock the shelves and at times, I was more comfortable standing in the middle of the windy Welly winters rather than be inside because of the horrible atmosphere I had to deal with, I went back to the coffee. The sweet, sugary, diabetic causing sweetness washed everything away in a glucose-raising haze. At 2:30p.m., I would make myself a cup of coffee cash out my till and head out the door. Back to the flat. Back to sanity. Back to sleep off the sugar rush.

 

There were good times. It sounds as though my life was a horrible bleh with coffee involved. But there were good times.

 

Breakfasts with the Sociologist at various cafes, my first macchiato (Yes, N.N, this should shut you up. +D), midnight times when I would sit at my laptop and type furiously trying to finish an assignment or two or three, nights where I couldn't sleep and I was more content with sitting at the huge wooden benchtop that we had in our old flat gazing into nothing. Hearing nothing. The occasional snore, the rustling as various people woke up during the night to use the toilet. But it was just me and my mug of coffee cupped between my hands against the winter and the rest of the world.

 

I remembered the last time I consumed coffee. It was when I was living in the country for my last placement last year. I bought a container of Jarrah's cappucino with a hint of chocolate, apparently. I loved it.

 

Every morning, I would come down, bid good morning to the Brit and The Host Dad and make myself a cup of pungent, steaming coffee. It was instant stuff, of course, and coffee afficionados need not comment in shock and horror but I love the simple stuff. I would sit there and dream a little with the cup of coffee as I looked out over huge acres of land with cows turning the grass to mud.

 

Good times. That container of instant ground lasted me until I passed my exams as well the following 2 weeks later. To think of the things it saw me through.

 

So I apologise. I have plain simple tastebuds that can't tell the different between plunger, instant, vending machine, and freshly steamed coffee. Ground and different grinds only mean one thing, that there is blackish brown stuff oozing out with hot water after that I can completely taint with whole milk and heaps of sugar.

 

I'm a simple guy and I like the simple stuff. I'm not choosy. I just like coffee. In any form. In mugs, cups, tumblers, bowls.

 

And I'm such a hypocrite. Although I profess an overflowing love for it, the cup of coffee I'm sipping at the moment is my 2nd cup of the year. Whadaya know.

Falling.

Imagine falling.

You don't know where the end is. You don't know if you're going to die when you hit rock bottom.

 

But you're falling.

 

And you keep falling.

The wind rushes through your hair and all you see if the faint speck of light where you fell from. It seems so far away.

 

And you keep falling. You wonder why you're falling in the first place. Not purposely of course. Who would want to fall like this on purpose?

 

Maybe it was an accident. Maybe, you were pushed in. Maybe, you tripped and landed in this hole and you just keep falling. What idiot would dig a hole this deep?

 

You don't know. And you're not sure if you want to know either. You want to stop falling.

 

So you reach out for the walls. And you feel dirt scrap fleetingly beneath your fingernails but that's it. A root, a stone...ouch, and more dirt. Whoever dug this wanted you to die. Probably. Its so deep you're pretty much engulfed in darkness now. Why are you falling, you ask yourself.

 

No answer comes to mind. Only the wind rushing through your hair. And your empty empty head. Your empty head. You don't think anymore. You function on an automatic level. Live, breathe, eat, sleep, die.

 

Why do you even bother? Surrender to the darkness and fall. Try and scramble and all you do is get dirt under your fingernails.

 

Stay immaculate in your uniform and live life the way its supposed to be lived. Safe, sound.

 

Boring. BORING.

 

Sigh.

Pretender 2 - Copper

The copperish metallic scent of a thunderstorm fills the air.

 

Sniff.

 

Smells like rain.

 

I pulled the my hood down and kept walking. Ignore the people staring at the dirty stranger in the trenchcoat, hood pulled over his eyes in the early evening. And its not even raining yet.

 

That night was the night that I met the Blonde.

 

She was sitting at the bar, whisky on the rocks clutched in a tumbler. A dagger lay within reach on the polished wooden benchtop.

 

Bourbon and coke, please. And plenty of ice.

 

Can't take your alcohol straight?

 

I've got a sweet tooth, so sue me.

 

By right, I should kill you for what you're doing to the bourbon.

 

And what in Hades gives you the right to do that?

 

Faster than I could imagine, there was a sudden glint of silver and I felt metal prod me in my groin. Dangerous place to be. It must be the dagger.

 

But no, it was not. The dagger still lay on the table, untouched. I glanced down.

 

Uh, uh...keep your eyes up and look at me, sweetheart.

 

She smiled, smug at herself. Stunning eyes, that's for sure. As blue as cornflowers.

What a way to introduce yourself. I'm Poet, by the way.

 

The Blonde. Nice to meet you.

 

I heard a snick and then the cold metal withdrew. I sneaked a glance down. And what seemed like a revolver with double barrels disappeared swiftly underneath her jacket pocket into a shoulder holster. Never seen a weapon like that before.

 

Never seen a gun, boy?

Not one like that, I haven't.

 

Yeah, not like that, I have not. I reached behind me and felt the relative safety of the Staff of Mercy, as I have named it. I get a kick out of thinking that death dealt with the staff is done as an act of mercy. Snapped in two, it fitted the holsters that attach across my back, out of sight, and perfectly indistinguishable to any idiot that decided that my wallet would be good pickings for the day. More likely, the idiot would get a cracked skull and broken shoulders, elbows, hips and knees to start off  with.

 

And daemons would be caught completely off guard.

Give me two seconds and I can probably unsheath it, land 2 killing blows and the screw it together to form one lethal hunk of metal. I'm pretty sure I can take the Blonde on if I needed to. And I have not quite determined whether she is friend or foe just yet.

 

But she has turned back to her drink and gazing into the distance. A quick once-over. Leather brown jacket, white tank top, black mini skirt and leggings. Her blonde hair tumbled like silk over her shoulders as she tipped the tumbler back and drained the rest of her whisky. Crunching on the ice, she signals the bartender for another one.

 

Then she spins around on her bar stool and seemingly sneers at me.

 

So what are you doing in the Ghetto? Who're you looking to kill?

 

What makes you think I'm wanting to kill someone? Can't I just be here?

 

Fat chance you're here for a holiday. Where are you gonna visit? The dump? Nah, you're here for blood. And I'm guessing....just guessing...that you have a two piece staff hidden underneath that trenchcoat.

 

I raised one eyebrow. Either she was good or she was really good.

 

No point talking so much if you don't have any proof of what you're saying, you know.

 

She turns and looks at me right in the eye.

 

My dead partner wore a two piece staff under his trenchcoat. There's no way I can mistake the shape of it.

 

Oh. I see.

 

My condolences. May I ask?

 

He had his throat torn out. And I'm sure you know who did it. Or what did it.

 

I paused. Daemons? How is that possible? I was one of the few who could see them. Who is this woman?

 

Oh yes, I see them too. Why do you think I would have this?

 

She held up her hand. A glove, similar to the one I'm wearing and slowly, it started to glow.

 

Purifiers. Now isn't that interesting.

 

She chuckled and turned around as her drink was placed in front of her. She takes a sip and murmured.

 

You're not the only one, you know. Don't we all have our daemons to kill? And your gloves makes it all too obvious. So you like the staff, then?

 

Yeah, I'm very much a hands on kinda guy. And you're a...what's the word?

 

BloodTaint, thanks.

 

Huh. Guess who's here for blood.

 

I never said I wasn't. I just said you were. What happened?

 

Mission. You know the drill. Assignments and all.

 

You're a Prophet? Really?

 

I made the purifying mark in the air with a glowing hand and whispered, "Sanctify."

 

A slight burst of holiness silently exploded through the air. Mortals would feel a sense of euphoria and happiness. Others, especially of the Dark, would feel sick to their stomachs and physically repelled. My little party trick, however, had seemed to had quietened down the entire bar. Everyone gazed in our direction and an electric current seem to run through the place.

 

Uh oh. 

 

"We've got a couple of Guardians in this place, boys," announced the bartender who drew a huge shotgun from below the counter. They did not look like the Dark. Not to me, anyway. Huh. Suddenly, the place bristled with blades and guns. What a wonderful world we live in.

 

The Blonde drew her double barreled revolver out and at the same time, grabbed the dagger off the counter top and nicked the tip of her finger. Blood oozed instantly. Blue blood. Very interesting indeed.

 

Being a BloodTaint, her powers lay in her blood. Her blood was her source of purification of her weaponry before she did battle, in order to bless her weapons and allow them to cause complete chaotic damage among her opponents. And with her being a blue blood, her talent and skills must have been exceptionally potent for her to be chosen to receive a Taint, where her blood is tainted with a drop of sanctified water. The unprepared would die a ghastly death as the water coursed through their veins whereas the prepared only felt heightened by the ritual, becoming stronger, faster, purer.

 

I drew out my staff pieces and again, the sharp flick of the wrists made them battle ready. They started to glow. As a Prophet, my powers lay in my hands, my staff and my chants. I choose to Sanctify by letting the power flow from my hands and enhance it with my words.

 

She looked at me and I looked at her.

 

I propose a toast. For blood then?

 

For blood. And hey.

 

I looked back at the bartender who seemed more keen on filling me with shotgun shells rather than liquor.

 

I still haven't gotten my bourbon and coke yet.

 

And with a cry of "Sanctify!", we charged into the fray.

What I do when I am bored on a long weekend and I have no internet and I play computer games all day until my brain rots out of my ears.

I blog on Notepad. Obviously. +D

 

7/2/09

Being deprived of the internet for a period of time makes me blog a lot more than I want to. Or in reality, blog a lot less since I can't get all my posts up when I want them to go up.

Its going to be more of a collection of random things I've thought of lately. Nothing solid, no creative stories or what's been going on with my day stuff. It's just stuff. General, random stuff.

***

I can feel her on my skin
I can taste her on my tongue
She's the sweetest taste of sin
The more I get, the more I want - Neyo

This meant something to me today. Apart from being a song that I unconsciously bop my head to at the gym when they're playing heavy metal and I'm in the corner listening to light r'n'b style, it says something. Can't figure out why yet.

***

Had a chat to the Sociologist yesterday and I brought up the idea that with me trying to be deep, there's a certain pretense to it. I'm not deep. Nah, not at all deep. But neither am I that shallow. I think I see-saw between the two and I'm all right with that. Life's too short to be pondering the mysteries of the universe when I'm more keen on resting under a tree with a glass of cold sweet tea. Now, to completely overanalyze everything, there's a certain philosophical aspect to it. Letting life flow past you, enjoying everything that comes along. This is completely out of my league. But lets move on.

***

"I wanna grow old with you" - Westlife is playing on iTunes at the moment. Several friends and I had a little debate. And obviously, the several friends I have live on the other end of the romantic spectrum. The chorus starts off with,

"I wanna grow old with you
I wanna die lying in your arms
I wanna grow old with you
I wanna be looking in your eyes"

And said friend goes, "That's horrible. Its like you have to die holding a person." And for the romantics reading this, lets sigh together and go, "You just don't understand." And to put a romantic perspective on it, if its someone you love, you would want to spend the last moment of their lives with them. Sad, yes, horrible, maybe? But I personally would regret if I wasn't there holding my loved ones as they passed on.

***

Brutal, total honesty is something not everyone can deal with, I think. I personally don't think I can deal with it too often although I would prefer to have it given to me straight rather than having someone fluff around and beat around the bush. I'll have it straight up, no frills.

There's a price to pay for total honesty. Things you do not really want to hear, things that you try to hide from, things you just leave out of the picture because it makes life easier, more tolerable, lighter.

But to tell the truth? The whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me God?

Some things warrant the truth. And some things don't. In my humble opinion, anyway.

There are things that I do not mention for the sake of it. I hint, perhaps, if I need to but some things deserve to remain buried.

***

A dance of love. Something I've not really seen.

Hm. I think they call the rumba the dance of passion or whatever they call it. Yeah, that's fine. But to actually dance a dance with love...that has yet to be seen by me.

I've attended several dances and a number of performances where they do wonderful acrobatic things and its the whole "wow" factor now rather than technique and grace and elegance. Not to say that the "wow" factor is inferior to technique and I must say that I personally enjoy a lot of "wow" in my dancing as well.

But to dance, close, intimate, not in sexy or erot|c terms but just plain simple love.

Yeah. I think love is that simple.

Funny how you watch tv and whenever there's a dance scene and slow music plays, everyone rocks back and forth on one foot to another that's dancing. Now, I'm fine with that and I've done that as well but there can always be a little more oomph to it.

How do you add love to a dance? Its like finding the 13th fragrant note in a perfume.

Its like homemade cooking. How mum and dad adds a little love to it and it always tastes a little better than whatever I can come up with.

Its like a hug or a kiss from someone special. Yeah, hugs and kisses are a dime a dozen but some are worth a whole lot more.

So how do you add love to a dance? How do you make a dance so that when people look at you dancing, they can tell that you are so in love?  How do you make people feel love just by watching a dance take place?

Hm. Something to look for then.

***

Was going through the drafts folder in my phone and came across some interesting phrases that I had written down a while ago. Do not really remember what they were or the inspiration from them but hey, its all good.

"Don't you play the tortured artist with me, or you can pack up your bags and leave."

Sometimes, I think this describes me very well. In an effort to amplify my own self pity, I think I get on other people's nerves more often than not.

"Shush, girl, and shut your lips
Do the Helen Keller and talk with your hips"

Random song I heard on the radio. Catchy beats though. No offence to Helen Keller.

"Turn your face towards the sun and the shadows will fall behind you." - Maori Proverb

All bad things go away. If only I would be smart enough to stop focusing so hard on them.

***

A final thought tonight before I go to bed.

Define love.

That when you say the words, "I love you", what does it actually mean? To you, personally. When you say "I love you" to someone, what do you mean by it? Define love. In as many words as you like. For example, does it mean "I care for you, I cherish you, I want to be with you?" Does it mean "I want to spend the rest of my life with you?" Does it mean, "You're breathtaking and I want you to be mine?"

What does love mean to you? And what does "I love you" mean to you? Of course, its not likely that you throw it around often either. And there are several who have let slip and then end up regretting it. Its potent stuff, saying "I love you." A poison if used wrongly, the keys to Paradise and eternal happiness if the right moment is chosen.

So define it. I'd like to know.

Pretender

Back into storymode, people. Thanks to the hoodie I'm wearing.

 

All I gotta do is flip the hoodie over my head and I become some masked superhero, skirting the skyline.

 

No, I'm not sitting at a computer typing this.

 

I am standing on the precipice of disaster as rain cascades through my hair and lightning flashes in the distance. The rumble of thunder roars through my veins and makes the cement below me tremble.

 

I crouch at this building's edge, looking below, looking for trouble. Looking for the Daemons.

 

They've always been there, not quite out of mind, lurking in my peripheral vision. Sometimes, if I turn fast enough, I can spot them before they cackle and disappear.

 

I grip the staff tighter in my left hand. Its always been with me. My first cracked skull was done by this bad boy. With this staff, I've exacted revenge and found my personal daemons, killing them one by one. But they always come back, in one form or another. But as long as the metal spins within my gloved hands, I know that there's a certain amount of safety that I can expect. I gripped the staff and jumped.

 

There is something about floating in midair. Well, not so much floating rather than falling at terminal velocity. The speed that you can fall no faster and there is no way in Hades that I can slow down unless I fling my hood open. The lights sparkle within the raindrops as they fall, painting the night white with droplets of holiness. Everything becomes a blur. I blink to squeeze away the tears.

 

I thrust out my arm, trusty staff in hand. It connects with the rough side of the building that I am currently floating down against and I feel the jerk and catch of metal into cement, I grind to a halt, 10 floors from rock solid earth. I would hate to think what would become of me if I did not break my fall. Using momentum, I flip myself up the right way around and crouch on the staff like some precarious gargoyle. The hood caresses my head and lands softly on my shoulders. With a shrug, the hood comes back around my ears and covers me again, protecting me from the rain.

 

I see them. And they see me.

 

They circle below, waiting for me to hit the last few metres before making mincemeat out of my flesh. But not tonight, boys, I mutter, not tonight. With a flick of the wrists, metal spikes suddenly protrude from the ends and along the shaft. It bristles like an aggravated porcupine. I suspend the staff in midair and I pass my gloved hands over the spikes. They start to glow. I hum and the light increases.

 

Now. I am ready.

 

I hang from the staff and wrench it away from the wall. Already, I am falling and already, I feel the rush of air as my daemons leap up towards me, jaws agape, ready to taste blood.

 

But the only blood they will taste tonight will be their own.

 

Spinning the staff around, it collides solidly with the first beast. It howls, and blood spurts. I must have hit an artery.

I land, once again, crouched, staff glowing deadly in both hands and the filthy beasts patter around me, wary, growling in anticipation of the kill but fear of pain. Of being killed.

 

"Come get me, boys," I whisper and the staff becomes a deadly shaft of light and deliverer of mercy, mercy from the rage that bursts within me as I satisfy my bloodlust and the rain continues to drift in the changing winds and droplets of blood becomes one with the droplets of rain.

Long day ahead. Oh dear lord..

Today is just one of those days that you know is going to be absolutely crap. Or crap-er for that matter.

 

For one, I woke up at the undeity hour of 2.30a.m. I know. Indeed. I woke up because my brain was full of work stuff. Believe it or not, now work haunts me in my sleep! I keep dreaming about having to give patients exercises and getting them to work out and having to supervise so many patients that I was tired before I knew it at the end of it all. But I was physically tired...but mentally alert. Hands up for anyone who has experienced that annoying feeling.

 

So I got up, made myself a cup of milo and a sandwich, and went back to bed. Or tried to, anyway. Ended up reading a magazine and learning all about celebrity gossip before my eyes started to yo-yo and I could think to myself, "Yes...finally..."

 

But I woke up this morning at 7.40a.m., completely rushed to the point that I couldn't even have breakfast. I marched to the kitchen, grabbed lunch, and then I was out of there in 3. Made it to work shortly after 8a.m. for which I was scheduled to have a patient. But phew, he didn't confirm and he didn't show up. I would have died a little on the inside if he did.

 

So its 4 minutes to 9a.m. and my next patient and already, the morning before that had not been good. I've completely misplaced one of my patient's notes and I've ran myself rugged trying to find out where the $*%^ it is. I've kinda given up already this morning and I'm just waiting to get home and put my running shoes and torture myself another way. And I'm also hoping to tire myself out with running so that I don't wake up again in the middle of the night. If I do, I'm asking for morphine. Asking...nah. Taking. And working in a hospital makes it soo much easier.

 

Life begins when you want it to. Now, I don't really want life to begin. I want to get back under those warm covers and you.

 

Kiss me.

These lyrics meant something to me today. The quirky lyrics, the lilting melodies. Yes. Kiss me.

 

Kiss me out of the bearded barley
Nightly, beside the green, green grass
Swing, swing, swing the spinning step
You wear those shoes and I will wear that dress.

[Chorus:]
Oh, kiss me beneath the milky twilight
Lead me out on the moonlit floor
Lift your open hand
Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance
Silver moon's sparkling
So kiss me

Kiss me down by the broken tree house
Swing me upon its hanging tire
Bring, bring, bring your flowered hat
We'll take the trail marked on your father's map

Just love it when the radio plays the right song at the right time. Makes me smile.

A dance-y weekend

Could I have this dance
For the rest of my life?

I've kind of made up my mind that this is the way I'm going to propose in the future. Very dance-ish but what better way for a dancer to ask, is it not?

 

So this week has literally revolved around dance. Not that I'm actually complaining but I'm quite happy it did.

First of all, I spent my Saturday afternoon at the Masters' Games watching very very talented professional ballroom and latin dancers. In elaborate costumes, they spun and circled the floor and majority of people perhaps only could wish that they could dance like them. It was an incredible afternoon, except for the fact that it was also incredibly stuffy inside the dance hall and I got quite sleepy and perhaps even a headache. But it was all good.

Secondly, I spent a portion of my Sunday with the Redhead who graciously came up from Palmy to discuss the championships to be held in May and to discuss the routines/get a bit of dance practice in. I'm sorely missing dance practice, that's for sure. And besides that, we also discussed about setting up ceroc classes in Wangy. How exciting. Apparently, the teachers down in Palmy who organises classes here are looking for people to teach/demonstrate/help out in general at Ceroc. Who knows, the next time I mention ceroc, you'll be looking at the words of the next ceroc dance teacher. +D Big grin indeed.

So this year is looking full of dance events at the moment. Plenty of things going on and I'm eager to jump in head first. And its so exciting too!

First up, I've got a masquerade ball to attend and that's this coming end of February. Then a month after that, we've got the champs. And after THAT, if I'm still up for it, there's South Akld champs as well. But it truly depends from that point onwards. With me being busier and starting to take up weekends and on call duties, dance might have to be cut short somewhat. But then again, there's possibly latin ballroom medals at the end of the year and the Simply Ceroc weekend 2010 to perform again! Awesome stuff. And that's not all of it. There's salsa that I might potentially look at going to, depending on how busy the schedule is with ballroom and ceroc. But its very very stimulatingly exhilarating. Argentine tango might have to be put on hold since no one's really interested but besides that, I'm good. I'll be busy for the rest of this year!!

It truly is different, to be working and all. How there's that much more freedom and yet...not really. How the world opens itself up to you in different ways but you still have to live within your own set boundaries. And the scary thing is that the boundaries are yours. Not anyone else's but yours. You decide now.

Scary thing.

Watched myself and the DancingSoftwareDeveloper this afternoon with the Redhead. Funny but I actually got butterflies watching how we danced. And honestly, I think I analyze too much and I personally start thinking that we dance absolutely crap and I could have done wayy better. But plenty of time for improvement. Like what JazzGirl said last year, all I really need is a partner to dance with. That would be awesome enough. Hm.

All right. Time's getting late. I need to go to bed. Good night, people.

Miss Independent - Neyo

30/1/09

So I watched The Devil Wears Prada yesterday.

And besides it being one typical chick flick, it also made me reflect on the kind of girl that I wanted in my future relationship.

Now, see, I completely sympathise with Nate, Andrea's boyfriend who gets literally shoved aside for all this. Now the point is, where is the job description and how far do we take it?

I, for one, personally would like a girl who has a career. It does make her seem a lot more worth getting to know as well as the fact that she is holding down a career means that she's at least thinking about herself in the financial sense.

However, I am not too sure I am the kind of person who wants a completely career driven focused woman, who answers her Blackberry more than she answers me, that she is at the mercy of her job at the drop of a hat, that she rushes off in the middle of the night and I wake up alone.

No, that is not really the girl I want.

Now, I am not the type of person who condemns working women. Like most of the PC world nowadays, I do not go and state that a woman's place is in the kitchen or the home or in front of nappies and naked babies. I am, in fact, all for the idea of a working woman. You want a career? You want a job? GO GET ONE! I am not stopping you, or Hell is not going to try and stop you. You go and get a job and personally, it is quite sexy to see a woman determined and motivated and is passionate about her job. But then again, if someone is passionate about something, does the person's appeal not increase tenfold?

But I do not want a woman chained to her desk. When I ask for someone to love, I did not require the "desk job" accessory.

All I ask is that she's there in the morning for me to wake up and have breakfast with. I can send her off to work. Then, if we can meet up for lunch, all the better. Although some people find this behaviour stifling. So I can let go of lunch. Now, I want to be able to have her home in the evenings or at least have the both of us prepare dinner in the kitchen. Nights and weekends are spent together. Perhaps some chill out time with friends to dull the monotony of each other's company. After all, familiarity breeds contempt, does it not? With work being work, I guess I can forgive the odd late night home or the 2-3 day work trip somewhere. I do not think that my demands are that unforgivable.

But me being home night after night while you are off galloping across the country with aforesaid Blackberry superglued to your ear and your briefcase in hand and I only see you once a fortnight? Give me a woman who wants to stay home ANYDAY.

Or maybe that is just being mean. Am I asking too much? I know that some women do not like the idea of having to spend time at home all the time with the boyfriend/spouse/husband. And some women need to be able to progress in their careers before being able to take that time available for their significant others. So where does the fine line lie?

I slept at 2 and woke up at 8 and I'm going to have breakfast and go to the gym. Oh dear lord indeed.