Sunday, September 25, 2005

"i keep trying to understand, this thing and that thing my fellow man, i guess i'll let you know when i figure it out"

“I want real writers in this class. Fiction writers. You don’t write like that. You journal. You think because you change the circumstance and the settings that you’re creating but you’re not. And I’m not here to read the autobiography of Miss Jenny Shecter. Become a writer first, then maybe.”
… Miss Charlotte Birch (The L Word) …

It’s no wonder Silverfish never gave me a chance. I’m Jennifer Shecter. What a revelation.

The ankle’s a real b*tch. It takes me a million years to get some place. I’m back to having problems peeing (on the squat toilets). I can’t sleep properly ‘cos every time I turn about (which I do ever so often) the pang wakes me up like a horrendous nightmare and sends me writhing in pain. I thought the worst was over when the knee got better. It’s like The KNEE Returns(!!). F*ck. What really gets me puzzled is that I think I most probably popped it ages ago while dancing on the stairs at home but it chooses to hurt only now: in Indon where I need to catch Damris and angkots and walk up gazillion flights of stairs to get to the lecture rooms. Bloody f*ck. Miss MasMas’ ankle guard is helping but I really need for it to heal ASAP ‘cos I wanna go for yoga and get some chores done. I cannot afford to be disabled here.

L-R: Ah Dho, Ah Dits

L-R: Miss MasMas, Miss HaHa (Amoi)

L-R: Ah Prada's crutches, Moi

Bawal bakar


So, I was suppose to wake up at 5am to get ready in order to make my way to the Damri bus stop by 6am so that we can catch the briefing at 8am. Unfortunately I was too tired ‘cos of the weeping, thinking, and late night msgs that I absolutely f*cked up this morning. Thank goodness Miss MasMas was around to save the day. She managed to get hold of Ah Dintyo so we could hitch a ride from him. As we cruised down the toll highway, I couldn’t help but review last night’s conversation.



(msg):
moi
: I also watchg l-word seasn 2. nobody ask u not 2 go party n bump n grind u kno. Sum more stay in red light. So happy 2 kno u IN CTRL of ur life n tat smoking is so passé ;D (ah choy I want 2 apologize 4 being so clingy. I hv now since try 2 not b. pls tell me wheneva I start being clingy againb. I will also curb my habit of msging u at odd hrs bout crap. I kno it cn get irritatg at sum point). We shud celebr8 ur independenc of ciggs!!

Decided to tell him bout my de-clingization efforts. I don’t know why I did it. Maybe it’s the 4 hour crying or the stinking mood or the fact Miss MasMas thinks I should allow him to note this. Whatever. It might not have been the best move after all but it’s done. He did not respond to the words in the brackets so I suppose he DID think of me as clingy. OK. So now I know. Ah Yung was right. Sure sucks that he’s right.

I don’t have a graduation picture.
You know, the shots where I stand in front of the dean and I get my tassled flicked to the other side as I accept my certificate. Went to SBP office and it’s not there. Everyone has theirs but mine just wasn’t there. I don’t think anyone took it for me because they would have said something. Ah Dintyo tried to console me that we WOULD get another graduation picture when we’re done with our M.D.s. But that’s not the point. The nearest excuse I can come up for myself is that someone mistook herself for me and took my picture by mistake. I doubt it. I don’t have a graduation picture. And I really wanted those pictures so much ‘cos I didn’t bring my camera in and the whole world frames up pictures of them doing the certificate acceptance. It’s such an assh*le situation that I didn’t know what else to do but laugh. No more energy to cry.

Hence I did what all FAT people do.


“You eat your pain.”

… Alice Pieszecki (The L Word) …


Yup I did just that… the entire day. Mmmy doesn’t understand why I NEVER compromise a quarter of my luggage space for anything other than chocolate products. I don’t particularly know how to explain why I do this even though I know for sure that this action would contribute to the failure of my weight-loss program. Frankly, I don’t know where else to stuff the pain. I’ve run out of spaces in myself. I did find new storage spaces but it wasn’t fair to dump my emotional baggage on people I care for. Therefore since I can’t stuff it up someone else’s ass the next viable route is to stuff it down my throat.

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