so... who do you really love now?
i wish i could tell you, but my palm reading says tt i'm fickle when it comes to love and i'd be wrong to deny tt.

i've realised tt i've started my hopping indecisiveness and unattentiveness again. i'm not done with reading herring's talking cock, and i'm less than halfway through tt neil humphrey's bk. and i just bought a new book last wk - the curious incident of the dog in the night-time by mark haddon; tt's the bk i'm reading now. i also seem to be noticing more cute guys now. correct me if i'm wrong, but it seems like i'm re-experiencing puberty, what with the crush-y feelings and the irregular menstrual cycles. thank God the acne decided not to make a comeback. i've slowly begun to notice a difference in this 2nd-puberty: more guys are looking. er... blurgh- WATEVER *rolls eyes in an extremely adolescent manner*

On play: Glass Vase Cello Case, Tattle Tale

[ost. But I'm A Cheerleader; a show bout a supposed-lesbian who gets sent to a reform sch for lesbians/gays and eventually falls in love and runs away with one of the lesbians there. lame yet oddly lovely.]


oh yes, everyone should've tuned to class 95 this weekend - cos it was 80's weekend! good music. i wonder if they play such good music on mambo nights at zouk. but zehzeh says the music there sucks; tt's good cos then i wont feel so lousy bout not getting to go because i have wonky knees.

speaking of my cacat-ness... i tried to do the stretching exercises as the physiotherapist advised. but i ended up tearful and frustrated and subsequently started uncontrollably hitting my head on the wall hoping to knock myself out so i wouldn't have to think bout how spastic i am truly becoming. i heard frm a documentary tt cannibalistic murderers cannot rationalise because they have damaged pre-frontal cortexes, so i always try to avoid the pre-frontal cortex whenever i (literally)head-bang. sometimes the wall is too hard so i slap my head with my hands then fall onto my bed, pretending to die. oh sweet sweet life.

on saturday (i think it was saturday), an elderly ms irene jacob came over to interview me and uncle jeffrey bout step-families. it's for her thesis paper for her Degree in Social Work (i think tt's wat it's called). i could not provide accurate answers to her questions without getting teary and emotional, so i simply did not give accurate answers. besides, i can't think well when confronted with sensitive questions. later, i felt a bit bad tt i didn't give her proper answers cos i did afterall agree to be interviewed. so i gave her my email address and said she could ask me more via tt cos i tend to write more honestly than i speak.

oh yea, happy fathers day.


On play: Exit Music (For a Film), Radiohead