I want to say but cannot say leh. how. die. doomed to live a life of lies. or not overt lies. more like lies by omission. i'm very good at omitting.

cold hands.
warm body. hee!
going crazy with not being able to do any work that requires concentration. but it seems to do wonders for randomwikimarathons and cooking.
cold hands.

I don't quite remember feeling ever as queasy as this. I never feel quite at ease, there's always this nagging tugging of my stomach as it seeks to find a resting spot away from the constant churning. It must be a defect in the design to be able to be mired in depression. A short circuit somewhere, though perhaps mental health isn't a priority. We survive, and the sun comes up again tomorrow.

There was a bonfire at my doorstep yesterday night and i'm not quite sure what it was for except that it was close to one, and it was a motherbig unprotected fire. And i am fairly certain that there was a chanting/prayer session which disrupted my sleep a couple of hours in. But the dream that it was some form of exorcism i am fairly sure was an explanation my sleeping brain was trying to put together.

Daftness.

There are probably a dozen more elegant ways to put this but fucking misery just encapsulates the stupid angst and self-dislike (i hesitate to use hatred here) most succinctly. and with least effort.

Sitting in starbucks is like sitting in an oasis of nearlythesame around the world. It's the season of the christmas cups which make me irrationally cheery. The hovering lamps, the generic music, the tables which must all have been made in china and shipped around the world. It's slightly obnoxious to imagine the possibility of turning a corner in a most remote land and coming upon the brightgreen sign which simultaneously scream hot coffee! and american imperialism haha. But. hot coffee.

I'm sitting here looking out at the denizens of Shanghai walking past my Starbucks window (I'm thinking I shall claim this spot despite the slight distraction of the turn-and-lookers) feeling in need of being amidst society. Not the impersonal larger-than-oneself's society, but people to talk to about everything and anything. about randomness and how wonderfully sunny it is today. I guess I miss that here. and I've only just realised it and no one seems to be responding to my tentative gestures at claiming a part of someone's afternoon to do that. humbug.

I don't understand this irresistible sense of happiness that shortcircuits me when i see an adorable child stumbling along the streets hand in hand with her grandmother, very seriously concentrating on taking in the environment and placing one foot in front of the other. It's not a sense of impending motherhood, but this primal, instinctive urge to scoop her up in my arms and baby her to death. possibly poor choice of words. but still hee.

A mite too late I am. to go this crazy. a word i use regularly of late,i realise. It's impossible to get anything done when one is this distracted. Distraction. Me, the shirker from confrontation, am distracted enough to try to do something about it. But I don't know how to go about doing it (other than picking up the nearest axe, sharp or not, and blindly charging in.)

stalk pounce devour.

闷骚was right.
how completely appropriate. when can i get it through my head that this is just throwing eggs against a really really hard wall?
They should list social impairment as a disease.
I can understand why psychologists are a necessary component of society. i want one :(

If I were a superhero, I would want to be able to a) have a perfect memory, b) be psychic, and c) be capable of teleportation. Which just reminds me of the anne mccaffrey rowan books haha. which i loved. even if they may seem completely cheesy and corny now. "Gestalt" forever bears the shade of interplanetary teleportation.

I've had a nervous stomache (it does look more respectable doesn't it) for more than a day now. there's no rhyme or reason. but I can place one of the major parts of it in my bedamnable slow-of-wit/quick-of-shame social skills. And here I thought that one of the few advantages of outgrowing adolescence was the confidence-growth bit. instead i find myself constantly categorising myself in the plasterdogbythedoor category and hating every minutesecond of it.

There are few things worse than not being able to feel comfortable about one's limitations in life. the grass is indeed greener on the other side. actually, the grass is on a scale of greydull to luscious green and who wants to be just yellowgreen.

I wish i knew for sure. There is a certain tragedy in the reality where there is no way of knowing the alter. The silences I interpret are simultaneously overlaid with realityB. The second/triple/quadruple guessing of disgust, disappointment, restraint, impatience, annoyance, could be complete fiction or a manifestation of my superb psychic abilities. I dip my toes in, and pray that a beneficent whale with a flick of its tail will engulf and draw me in inexorably into the depths of the midnightrich waters. But the pond won't fit a whale.

I colour gray. grey. gray. dullard indefinite indecisive grey. humans are very poorly designed creatures. All i want to do is sit in certain warmth in definite technicolour. I don't mind slight scratchiness, but i need a whale.

Only in the throes of a mood does the urge to write something claw its way into the fog of inertia that binds me to unproductive uninspiring routines. Having been seized by the relentless combination of acquisitionfrenzy and bookgreed i burnt my way through hundred yuan bills and i am now a proud owner of two very tall stacks of books which are just crying out for me to somehow overcome the relentless haze of insufficient energy to devour. Although i must say that being in the midst of five open reading materials of a great variety of interests ought to at least create some sort of impetus to finish some of them.

if this were a darwinist survival of the fittest, i would be eliminated based solely on the inefficiency of my mitochondria.