Here’s another internet meme (that’s meeeem), from ci’en.
My ex is in town for 5 days. She’s flown 7000 miles to attend a job interview, which is quite crazy. But she always was anyway, heh. We’ll probably meet for dinner one of these days when I can remove myself from work, which requires me to be quite schizophrenic in terms of being alternately corporatized and creative. If it were an ebay seller, I would decidedly not “buy from again”. Maybe I should start misbehavin’.
I love Japanese curry, and so does the ex, so we’ll probably do dinner at Curry Favor on Stamford Road. I don’t understand people who leave out the red preserved picklely radish bits when they eat their curry rice. It makes all the difference.
I lose faith in this country and the ambitions of my generation whenever I work in non-creative, non-MNC offices. It’s like being in the army all over again, where colleagues have no love for what they do, except this time there isn’t a good excuse. People say I’m not like them, but I wonder. Some days the idea of a job that pays ok and doesn’t kill you with overtime sounds like a good trade-up for the lack of excitement and the death of some small part of me.
But then again, love is simultaneously the highest and lowest form of art, and what worth is a life that has no art in it? Somewhere, someone is risking everything on the strength of his own beliefs, and I envy him. I will always be a worrier. Forever is a long time to be regretting a mistake. Lately, a lot of the advice I’ve been getting has gone along the pseudo-inspirational lines of “Have no regrets!” It’s sound advice, but I never want to forget my mistakes.
(I think the current US President has forgotten most of his.)
When I wake up in the morning, I am unable to see the day before me, and a ball of worry starts growing. The worst thing is not being able to control everything. But even if I could, I think I would hate it. I hate micro-management. Not to sound emo about it, but my happiest mental state would probably be unconsciousness.
My past was filled with bad CD purchases. I get annoyed when I look at all the crappy CDs I spent good money on, and think of what I could have done with it instead. Regrets upon regrets. I actually own a Tommy Page album. Parties are for showing off one’s record collection. Maybe I’ll throw a bad music party and exorcise the demons publicly.
My dog is named Mandy and you can see her on the top left corner of this page. She’s put on some weight recently, and I mostly call her fatso now. I regret missing out on half her life, and short of bribing her with enough treats to kill, I don’t think I can rely on her to save my life if I fell into a frozen lake. My cat is named Kimmy, but that’s a long story.
I don’t regret any kisses. Kisses are the best when you know you’re not going to catch anything from them, and I’ve a clean bill of health. Tomorrow, my girlfriend will be free of her exams, but I will still be stuck behind this desk. And then she’ll be off to Canada in a few weeks, and I plan to fill my time with the writing of a new collection of poetry that just occurred to me this morning. Be afraid.
I really want to finish writing this thing although it’s been fun. There’s work to be done and I want to leave on time. I have a low tolerance for people who squeak. Goodnight and good luck.