Archive for October, 2006
matured and suburban
Posted on October 31, 2006, by soph, under Uncategorized.
You know life has turned a new page when…
you play rounders, touch rugby and soccer in one afternoon, and can’t
climb stairs/get out of bed/get out of car/walk properly for the
following three days
and
you find yourself weeding your backyard for over two hours on a sunny Saturday afternoon
It’s a good thing i still love my tim tams/chocolate anythings/nutella out of the jar/oreos/ice creams/peanut butter…
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turtle time
Posted on October 25, 2006, by soph, under Married, Uncategorized.
Last night at around 10.45pm
“What are you doing?” I called out from the bathroom
I brushed my teeth
I washed my face
I got into PJs
I got into bed
(Where Y was on the laptop)
I opened my book and began reading
Long silence
“I’m looking at cars,” Y said
It was 11.10pm
Talk about slow response
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the perfect gloom
Posted on October 20, 2006, by soph, under Uncategorized.
I swear I did not realise it’s been 10 days since my last post. Seriously, what’s with the rush - of time… for time…
The weather this morning was distinctly London-esque. (I’ve never been to London but y tells me this is what it’s like there.) Grey skies, cool winds, a tinge of gloom, the feeling of a rainy day to come. It called out to me like a haunting tune I did not recognise, but somewhere deep down, identified and hummed along with. It was surprisingly, depressingly, perfect.
It’s not because I have nothing to say that I am left reminiscing over the weather. And here I say reminiscing because the sun has decided to show up after all and my perfect gloom has been spider-webbed with feeble but enthusiastic yellow rays of light. It’s because too much and too little has happened that I do not know where to start. Or if I even want to at all.
But I really didn’t realise it’s been 10 days since my last post. And I really should get back the work that awaits…
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butter on my fingers
Posted on October 10, 2006, by soph, under Learning Curve.
Some of you may remember my New Year resolution January past. (It seems not so long ago that I celebrated Christmas and New Year with my colleagues, and now it’s October. Don’t get me started.)
Anyway, one of them was not to drop things. I kept it really well throughout the early weeks, might have even made months with a drastic reduction in dropped items, but… it’s back. I’m dropping things again. All the time. It’s rather traumatic.
You see, as kids, my sister was always the klutzy one. Like, seriously klutzy. She fell over her own feet, she spilled everything on her clothes, she got burnt on a motorcycle exhaust, she ran into a plate and cut her forehead… My aunt even had a nickname for her - butterfingers.
Alas, I fear we are now to share that label. In the past years, I couldn’t help but notice that maybe she wasn’t the only accident-prone klutz around anymore. And my husband will gladly attest to the fact that I am the latest butterfingers on the block. Actually, make that the only one.
I do try. But I don’t know why I keep dropping things. For instance, last night I dropped a chicken wing in my lap. Then before bed I knocked over my glasses and ballpoint pen on my bedside table. And these are just two in a long list (I’m sure) of well, accidents.
So I’m going to do something: in a last-ditch attempt to stop, I’m going to keep count of the number of things I drop daily. Beginning today. And provided I don’t slack off, forget or stuff it, I shall keep going…
It’s 12.28pm and so far, I have dropped: nothing.
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on a sunday arvo
Posted on October 8, 2006, by soph, under Psychobabble.
I really need to stop writing two-sentence posts every two weeks. So in an effort to blog at least a marginally respectable (length-wise) post, here goes:
I really shouldn’t be blogging when I’m at least two and more episodes behind everyone else who started on Prison Break season two last night. I’m never going to catch up; I shall be doomed to finish the season in the solitude of my master bedroom when Y isn’t using his iBook. As I’ve discovered, opportunities like that are simply too few and far in between.
But…
I did have one of those days yesterday. The men were having a testosterone-only conference and yours truly has finally completed Grey’s Anatomy season two. Don’t worry, no spoilers here.
I’m totally getting used to the life of a bum - it’s actually worrying. I don’t know what I do with my days. They just… pass. And yes, even though I am engaged in some form of employment or other, the fact remains that I am still a bum. Oh bother.
Speaking of men and their conference, there’s a women’s conference coming up this weekend so it’s going to be a rather jam-packed Friday evening and Saturday. I gotta confess, I’m not leaping up and down with excitement. The fairy that sprinkles excitement-dust seems to have passed me by. But I’ll be there nonetheless, and in place of all that non-existent anticipation is a tiny glitter of hope that yes, indeed, it will be good.
Oh I’m sure it’ll be. And as the teams prepare for a weekend of oestrogen-fueled emotion with the sistahs (among other things), I wonder if it will be good - for me. I’m having these exaggerated visions of women weeping and even though I’m pretty sure there will be much more to the conference than just that, it’s been a while since I gave in to these err… events.
A couple years of deliberate distancing plus careful cynicism have done wonders. And I wasn’t even the most extroverted of women to begin with. I remember just one instance in my life when I turned to my girlfriends for support in moments of upset. I’m freaking 24 years old. I should have called up a dozen girlfriends to lament the evils of men by now, but I only remember one instance.
Gee, no wonder I’m such a volcano when I do erupt. I’ve often wondered: am I too proud? Too proud to break down and cry and say I need your help and your comfort. Am I too afraid to inconvenience others? That I am incapable even of receiving love when I need it because I have nothing to give in return. Or is it simply: have I not found the right people? With whom I am comfortable enough to silence my pride and inconvenience without fear.
Like I said, I wasn’t the most extroverted of women to begin with. Have I built up walls without realising it and that I cannot, nay, will not, break down? Am I simply being a drama queen slash over self-analyst because as us cousins have determined, our genetics simply do not favour a healthy mental life?
Now there’s a post to last another couple of weeks. And I feel like chocolate.
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