For someone who spent the greater part of her childhood (read: until secondary school) living in this strange balance where I could never wake up on time for school, yet was always bounding around the house at the crack of dawn the moment the holidays appeared, I find myself faced with a rather peculiar predicament: I keep on waking up before my alarm clock goes off!

I suppose it’s a good thing - now I won’t be late for class anymore (for as long as this lasts, of course), I’ve actually got time to laze around in bed, poke around my phone/laptop and read a little before having to hurtle through the shower and to the bus stop to get my sorry ass down to class. Just one little problem, though - I keep waking up with a shock.

Don’t you hate it when you suddenly bolt upright for no apparent reason, fumble for your time-telling device of choice thinking, “Oh fuck I’m late I’m late I’m late!” only to find that it’s actually 830am and your class is only at 10? I hate it. It sets me on this very high-strung edge for the rest of the day, and it never takes longer than a couple of hours before a headache sets in from the tension, and whaddayaknow! I’m having a sucky day. :(

I was looking through some old(er) things I’d written previously, and it never fails to amaze me how one can ascertain the birth, death, and everything in between of previous relationships based on how [insert name]-centric my writing tends to be. I shall put an end to that.

It also kind of annoys me that some of my favourite pieces are of past loves, and how I never seem to be able to write that way about anything else. Hence, I’ve arrived at the brilliant conclusion that what I am in need of is a muse. If I can procure for myself a neutral muse (i.e. one that’s not subject to breakups and the suchlike), I should be set for life! Then again it’s boring writing about one person with whom you are not.. enamoured with. Unless of course they’re as entertaining as one particular little friend of mine who does and says the strangest things.

There are a couple of things at this current moment which seem to be doing their darnedest to piss the hell out of me. Aside from my waking up with a shock syndrome, various objects of annoyance have been floating around in my head. In particular, regarding this fine specimen of a school that I’m currently studying in (and it’s vapid enrollees/administration), and a couple of other things that are insisting on confounding me to no end. “Why” seems to be the most frequently asked question in this current stage, with “What the fuck must you be thinking to…” coming in a close second. And yet I continue asking, although the only answer I ever get out of my dogged questioning, from my friends and myself alike, is “I don’t know.”

One friend commented, “At times like these, don’t you wish your head was detachable?” and I most certainly do. I can think of but one thing that I’d like right now, which would make me so much happier. Then again, with the whole slew of complications I tend to bring around with me wherever I go, I’m likely to fuck that up as well.

A lobotomy is in order.

I HATE IT WHEN I GET SO FUCKING WHINY.

Isn’t it interesting how music has so much power over our moods? Just a couple of days back, I was out with a friend of mine, and I’d started the day off pretty badly, arguing with my mom and the suchlike. Over lunch at Brewerkz, strains of Blame It On The Boogie-esque songs got me bopping, and I cheered right back up. (The beer had a small hand in that too, admittedly.)

Things were going steadily uphill, moodwise. After lunch, we managed to find a pair of yummilicious jeans for her in all of 5 minutes (okay the jeans weren’t yummy - they just had the cutest bright yellow buttons - but I think they made her look pretty damn fine), and finally collapsed at Starfucks to nua over a cup of coffee (I’ve never been much of a shopper, and apparently her stamina’s waning too). Within the span of the first 2 or 3 songs we were listening to on her iPod, the transient chirpiness had been lost to what would stretch into a good two hours of brooding. (Note: Anyone else facing a similar predicament, I recommend the orange flavoured lollipops sold at the counter - they make a pretty good, albeit temporary, distraction.)

I am firmly convinced that music is the blood of life. What pains me most is that this lyricism is often lost in the troughs of the recondite melodies of today’s synthetic music world, and it is this loss that we honour with a minute’s silence.

Now Playing: Wish You Were Here by Pink Floyd