It was all becoming a little meaningless. So this is goodbye, although it was very hard to terminate renewal of this domain.
Leaving, is a very liberating experience for me, because I tend to get very attached to things. And people.
I do have a new home online. Email me at purpgurl [at] gmail [dot] com, for details if you want to know. This space will be taken down some time early next year.
I shun drama like you won’t believe it.
The let-down has been so huge so frequent lately that all I want to do is complete my 2 semesters with no outside-upm-world contact. Because that place itself has enough disappointments in store for me.
I know that’s cowardice. But I just can’t find that part of me that used to alwaaaays find the brighter side of things. In place of that optimism, appeared a long list of damaging things that I want to do, and I can’t wait to get started.
Here are a few songs I never want to hear again, due to the obvious sentimental values that I attach to them on different occasions.
Ryan Adams - Starlite Diner
Augustana - Either Way, I’ll Break Your Heart Someday
Room Eleven - Swimmer
Room Eleven - It’s Raining
The Script - I’m Yours
Lykke Li - Window Blues
Mauro di Maggio - Non Ti Voglio Fermare
But I still play them on loop when I’m already feeling too blue, even when I know the songs just worsen my mood.
I’ve been feeling like crap for the past week, if I don’t finish this book about suicide and quickly move on to chic lit, I think I might put on a load of weight from comfort eating. What the hell. I’m going to go make myself happy tomorrow by getting a bottle of D&G Pour Homme. It smells nearly unisex so why not. And that pair of heels I’ve been eyeing. Maybe even those oxfords if I would give up my Tuesday coffee.
Today I crumbled. Thrice.
Everything after the first one, might have been a result of spending the afternoon reading Nick Hornby’s A Long Way Down. Maybe, somehow I saw myself in one of his four suicidal heroes and heroines: The Has-Been, The Lesser Daughter, The Tied Down 50-something Widow, The Loser Wannabe.
When the fog cleared up today (with a little trigger from my parents who had meant well), where I saw myself standing, was a very unhappy place to be. And it made me sick, literally.
Funny how I was just dumbfounded last night, watching Vanity Lair, where this guy got sick of his own imperfections. Like, literally sick.
Either my push ups were done all wrong, or I simply haven’t exercised in a too damn long while. Because I am in some major pain now. I tried watching ANTM while eating buttery pound cake, to take my mind off this discomfort in the left arm. Did not work at all. Reruns of Friends and bitter Jamaican chocolates, didn’t work either. Just stepped out of a hot shower, and the pain came bouncing back when I left the steaming hot water.
I’ve tried applying 2387423840 varying degrees of pressure on the arm, bend them at every angle I can manage, and let them dangle at every creative position my head can come up with. Still. The. Same.
When I went to my 3am aunt agony, crying out for a way to take the pain away, he offers this solution: when that guy who ignores you adores it with much love.
Nevermind making sense of the “guy who ignores me” bit… This all just reminded me of how much I miss having someone tenderly picking up whichever limb of mine that is in pain, and showering me with “aaww you poor baby” looks.
I miss those days when I used to cut myself (accidentally of course) and having someone else do the bandaging for me.
Oh hello arm. I think the pain just went away. Bed time!
Gloria Jean’s chai tea latte will never come close to CBTL’s, but their latte is definitely better than Starbuck’s. No burnt milk, no under-extracted shots.
I’ve finally gotten over the blow of Sunway Pyramid’s CBTL shutting down. That, and the douchebag barista I was seeing. Anyway, I am finally allowing myself to explore something new. Yes, still talking about coffee here.
There is so much on Gloria Jean’s menu, but I think I have it learnt now. Anything fancy and odd, sounding like it might tempt your tastebuds, is a no. Their flavoured lattes are really not for me because I can’t stand anything flavoured with syrups. As for the coolers/ice blended drinks, those non-coffee ones are just way too… flavoured.
But maybe it’s just me and my unconsciously growing affinity for all things java.
Gloria Jean’s concept is a little more on the gourmet coffee side, with smaller cups to go with. I had a large latte with an extra shot the other day. Which looks like a regular sized latte, and tastes pretty much like a double cap. And I looove that they always have latte art done, which means they always have a barista who can steam silky foam (unlike Starbucks). Makes me miss working behind the counter.
I hadn’t meant for this post to be raving and complaining about coffees. Initially, all I wanted to post was a picture, but I got carried away.
If it is any consolation at all, to those of you who love your Starbucks frapp, despite bitching about their java all the time, they undeniably have the best whipped cream.
Click to view the picture in a larger resolution. You have to see how I indulge.
Digital weighing scales are driving me nuts.
Because the decimals refuse to remain consistent, I think I’ve weighed myself at least twice per hour, at every other hour. Twenty over times in one day. I am just obsessed today, can’t help it.
One third of the time, I am at 119. Then it drops to 118, goes back up to 119, drops back to 118 again. It’s as if I’m a pail of water, evaporated some when it reads 118, condensed when it reads 119, and (I reckon) collected extra rain water when it goes from 118 to 120 within the same hour.
What you see here, are rounded up numbers. What I dealt with today, were pounds with decimals. Insaaaaane.
While I spent the day crafting at home — and running on practically nothing but iced coffee and the (inseparable) palpitations that comes with it, and creating a huge mess with gold and silver paint on the floorboards that dad blew a sum on to have waxed — bigger mess are taking place outside my safe bubble. I had no idea things were that bad. I probably never could get back on my feet if I were in their shoes. But that’s just me and the outrageous dependency I’ve developed.
Get well soon, in more ways than one.
I am so crazy scared. But at least it isn’t a dead end.
For now.
The road’s been stretched for a few more steps.
