This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang, but a whimper.

I've been neglecting my blogging and writing ways. Not because I don't enjoy feeling thinking complaining but out of sheer fear and laziness.

Fear that what I produce isn't good enough and then being too lazy to correct it.

On reading week right now, more like working week, lofting week , eating week, sleeping week.

I've been suspicious of sleepwalking for the past few nights. Early this morning, 3 am maybe, I had to pee. I was still sleeping but dreaming about peeing (don't act like you don't dream about drinking when thirsty, or gorging on food when hungry, that's Freud's dream theory of wish-fulfillment right there, anyway). And that moment, that second where your eyes crinkle even more shut and then peek open, which tends to happen immediately after turning over, happened when I was at my bedroom door, half-dressed and afraid to fully open both eyes, because I was in denial of the fact that I almost made it to point B (bathroom) while still in dream mode.

Bianca:
is too depressed to masturbate.

horrible things, horrible things inside.

Having hallucinations when you're alone is one thing. But having audio hallucinations when you're alone are the worst.

I need to learn when to keep track of time and when to lose track of time.

I like knowing two languages. English and French. The other morning while brushing my teeth I was staring at the tube of toothpaste. I usually read the phrase first in English, and then in French. The toothpaste claims to have "Triple Power"or "Pouvoir Triple". French translates English's word "power" into the French one "pouvoir". Now in French, pouvoir can also be conjugated with a noun (Je Tu Il Elle Nous Vous etc.) to say "Je peux". But it won't mean "I power" in English. "Je peux" will translate into "I can". The realization of the translation of can into power and power back into can just made me appreciate both those words so much more.

I am such a lexiphile. When I was a kid, we read about an "etymologist" in one of my elementary school classes. Apparently, all that an etymologist does all day is study the origin of words and their meanings. I thought that must be so wicked. And here my brain goes on to another idea with this tangent thought of how the hell wicked went from meaning evil to awesome? That and terrific. Yeah. Terrific should totally mean terrible, like the word terrifying. But instead we think it describes a grand old time better than a terrible and terrifying one. Sorry. I'm all over the map.

I'm thirsty. I'm currently trying to keep track of time, so I will stop here.

I am lonely.
I don't even have a pack of smokes to spend the night with.

I am so sick of this. Not because I don't have a cigarette, but because my own boyfriend and I are running out of things in common. I don't remember the last real conversation we had. I know he's the last phone person in the world, but being on it is so drawn out. Our average talk time is 1:38 per call.

I get that run-away feeling at least a few times a week. I want to drop everything I've stuck to for the past 20 years, down to my very own house. I've never moved.

How naive can you be to think that your 'soul' mate (or we could call it ideal mate for all the anthropological Atheists) is so conveniently placed in the same town as you of the same country's province on the same continent in the world?

How do you know your other half isn't on the other side?


















I don't.

Only I would iron my shirt when still wearing it (true story, see high-school me circa grade 10), and only I would cut my eyelid when trimming my bangs (see present me circa this morning).

Bored out of my gourd tonight. I should be reading a wave of articles on the atomic bomb for tomorrow's journalism class (last week it was on the Ebola virus, good readings. Enough to make me rent the movie Outbreak with Rob) , but I am the procrastination master. I also don't know when to stop skipping class. Add constant napping, incessant whistling, finger fidgeting, foot jiggling and eye-blinking in the picture and you have me, everyday running on a Large cup of coffee.

Techno-Pessimism.

I don't know who you are, but your existence's awareness of my existence, makes me fucking nervous.

That's him, the guy I love to love and hate to hate but sometimes it happens, simultaneously even. But there's something about him and us when we're together. Someone said that those people in love are a product of two childhoods connecting. That's us.