Ça fait longtemps. à peu près un mois, je crois.

:: Hurt - nine inch nails

went for a job interview yesterday at some student care centre. min $9/hr please, i said. something tells me three months isn't going to be too long.

i feel like being alone, sitting in a park alone and not having to talk. i havent had a good pensive moment in a long while.

this was what i was thinking bout while sitting on the couch with daddy at his place and he started his hand tic (abruptly hitting the sofa every now and then): pple who are alone for too long begin to lose a sense of self (soi-même, c'est-à-dire). if there is no other, then there is no longer the need to establish oneself, non? sporadic social interaction becomes a conscious task mediated by memories of previous interactions and the only person you're comfortable with is yourself, despite the intrapersonal reproach.


i wish it didn't take me so much effort to be interested in daddy's life. he sounded like he was gonna cry when i told declined his invitation to a movie yesterday afternoon. the thought of giving someone a second chance is cute and rosy but really doing it is bit far out of the way. maybe not if i wasn't so fucking lazy.

i have to start making some money soon if i don't want to be broke before the year is out. but staying home doing nothing has done good for old memories. ok this sounds really silly but the smell of tea tree oil and moonflower and pimple lotion and freshly-washed-but-not-yet-dry laundry reminds me of a previous relationship. feels good.. reliving tt naive adolescent excitement and glee. makes me feel giggly and silly but happy at the same time. really hot diluted milo reminds me of my pri school tuckshop. the smell of a haze reminds me of 1997, when i used to think it was a fresh smell. paint smell reminds me of our place in bedok, when mummy repainted our room and we had to move our beds outside to the hall and i peed in my bed. spray-paint smell reminds me of tt aep camp we had in sec 2 where we had to make giant shoes out of anything we could find. dynamo smells of the times our yellow washing machine didn't have a dryer function and mummy had to take out the clothes dripping wet piece by piece to wring them dry by hand.

:: Cry - mandy moore

ah this song. still smells of innocence to me. mine i.e.