16 posts tagged “scratchings”

She had a sing-song accent, a melody of a voice and smelled strangely attractively of - of all things - fresh laundry. If she were a little taller, blonde, and didn't have that weirdly huge chin I'd probably have collapsed at her feet in worshipful adoration, deeply inhaling her fresh laundry smell. As she was - I just breathed, and listened.

Although, come to think of it, it might have been the actual laundromat I was smelling, and not her. But let's not spoil the moment, hmm?

So, after 5 weeks of putting it off, I have written a fairly straightforward note to myself so that, when I wake up in the morning, I'll stop putting it off:

"Go swimming/ You stupid fucker."

I wonder if my morning-self will cower with fear at the unbridled wrath of my evening-self and race out the door in haste to do his (my?) bidding. Probably not. But I hope to actually get that done.

Other things.

First off: my third improv performance will be on Friday and Saturday. This is the single longest thing I've done since I started attending university - nothing else has lasted quite this long. The level of enthusiasm I have for it also outdoes anything else by quite a long way as well, too. It makes me happy, though recently I have begun feeling rather dissatisfied with my performances - flatter than I'm capable of, less spontaneous and inspired than they have been.

We're also beginning to look ahead to the next year in the hope of keeping the group going in the next academic year. While we're losing at least 3-4 members (out of about 10-11), most of the core group - including one of the two experienced improvisers in the group - will be sticking around in Oxford. Which is good. We're already thinking about recruitment and getting a regular time-slot, possibly at one of the smaller theatres in the city, or possibly a watering hole with a small stage area for performances.

It's great fun. Pity Singapore has no improvisation theatre to speak of - and at the moment I'm far too inexperienced to run it myself. Maybe after another year. I like this stuff enough that I'm half-tempted to live in Chicago for a while if only to go for some Second City sessions. Crazy talk? Maybe! Maybe. Maybe not.

There's an "ImprovEverywhere-inspired" group in Singapore at the moment, but it's not quite what I'm looking for - I'm thinking theatre-based, not flash-mobesque type improv. Part of it is simply because I really like to, once a week, just not be myself for a while.

We'll see. Summer should be interesting. Or it might not be. I'll have something to do, at least...

Elsewhere - my libido is oddly low. Perhaps I'm moving on from the hypercharged state of the adolescent male to the more even keel of the older man... about time, really. Or am I deluding myself? Bleargh, stoopid hooman. Anyway the idea of being hopelessly obsessed with a single person is both repulsive and highly inconvenient. Better a detached, mild interest than an exhausting, all-consuming, ever-present obsession, I say.

Take G., for example. One of the more liberal Christians I've spoken to (for some indiscernible reason, a LOT of the Singaporean Christians in Oxford tend towards the Crazy Evangelist type), she's interested in politics and such, is articulate, and - get this - hates the idea of marriage. Like, omg where have you been. Sort of. I don't know, I don't feel particularly obsessed with her, which is a refreshing change from previous experiences... we'll see. At the moment, I have that show to stress out over, heh. Not to mention a truckload of frickin' essays. Which are in themselves actually quite fun to do, if I don't leave them to the last minute.

Can't concentrate. Tired. Why tired? Had sleep. Had plenty of sleep.

 

Turns out my room faces east. At 8am the sun's rays shine directly onto my face; a delightful natural alarm clock. Love it. Will be great at the weekend.

It's three weeks into term and I haven't gone swimming as I'd planned yet. Tsk.

Tired. So tired. Why? Didn't do… I am repeating myself.

Had a lecture by Joseph Nye earlier this morning. Interesting, but lost concentration halfway through. One hour later and I'm losing it in an economics lecture. In the best of times I can barely make it through an economics lecture without nodding off.

Pity.

 

So much wrong with my head.

 

A quick talk with fellow students reveals what I'd been dreading: that my standards are horrendously low. Horrifying; I was satisfied with 60s and 62s on my essays; others consider those scores to be the nadir of their academic career. It would seem that I have some catching up to do. Same tutor, mind you, so at least the measurement is consistent, if depressing.

 

Some work to do.

 

Longish day today; things to do. Alan Rickman coming to the Union? Okay, but I'm not really that interested. If that bug-eyed guy who played Mister Pink in Reservoir Dogs came, maybe I'd give a hoot.

 

I will spend a while sorting out my calendar for the rest of term. And figure out a way to drag myself from bed to go swimming in the morning. Gaah.

 

Sleeping on time is an indelible ingredient. Perhaps if I got everything ready the night before, so I could just get up, grab a bag and throw on a shirt and go, rather than actually have to stumble around half asleep getting the stuff I need, it might be easier…

 

Right now: still tired.

 

Expectations are important. My expectations of myself, if I were to be brutally honest, are very low. I am capable of more; I have done it before. The problem is, expecting little, I produce little; there is no pressure, no motivation to produce more than I have to. How can I raise those expectations so I drive myself to give more? Questions, questions.

 

I mean, I'm as good as any of the blowhards around me. Why, then, am I performing so frickin' badly? All things being equal, it is therefore likely to be a problem with the most overt variable: myself.

 

This is a really minor issue in a world where people blow each other up every few seconds - but i'm wondering why internet users in Singapore use "tml" as an abbreviation for "tomorrow"? I've seen "tmr" as an abbreviation, which is understandable, but "tml"? It's not as if "tomorrow" is spelt or pronounced as "tomollo" in Singapore. It's what a caricature of a Far Eastern accent might use.

In other news: I'm just slightly disturbed by a random thought train I took in the dead of night. If one thinks about it (and I do it often), the only difference between oneself and a murderous psychopath is that I'm too chickenshit to do the things that murderous psychopaths do. Otherwise I'm merely a maladjusted misanthrope. Hint: Said train involved fingerprints, bloodstains, and a lingering annoyance that the UK has so many CCTV cameras, it's hard to do stuff without getting spotted.

*cough*

... Maybe it's a good thing that the UK's descended into a surveillance society, after all. Those politicos are getting something right.

In unrelated developments, the Internet is for porn. Heh.

I'm quite chuffed about the Asus Eee I ordered last night - been thinking about it for a while, and finally I took the plunge. It's a little 2-pound notebook with an almost-full-sized keyboard, with around 3-5 hours' battery life and a 7" screen - not particularly impressive specs, but it's only #200+ so it's not a Very Big Investment. And it fits nicely into my little satchel. I'm convinced that I've found the panacea for my chronic lethargy! Now I shall rule the world.

Bit of a logical leap there... it makes less sense on-screen than it did in my head, and it didn't really make much sense in my head in the first place. Huh.

It's 2008! I don't feel any different! Damn. Almost 23, sings Nicky from Avenue Q, and he's still amounted to nothing... damn if I don't feel the same way. My head says it can only get better from here, and my heart certainly hopes so, but something in me (my spleen, perhaps) constantly whines that the best years of my life have passed me by, ignoring me like I'm a hobo selling copies of the Big Issue. It's almost white noise, white noise - the stuff that you see on the TV when there's nothing good on, the buzz that comes from the radio when you flip it on just so the silence doesn't get too oppressive.

I've been following the US presidential primaries fairly closely (or at least as closely as I feel like, which some days means I don't particularly care) and it seems Obama's opening up a nice lead over Hillary. I don't know what to feel about that - all the candidates seem equally evil from here. I have a slightly different take on the candidates than a standard-issue American (if such a thing even exists) would - I don't care if the new President's going to run the US into the ground as long as his foreign policy is friendly to foreigners. Also, it'd be nice if he was friendly to immigrants since I may very well want to try my luck at emigrating to the US within the next few years. I wonder if it helps that I'm neither Arabic nor Mexican. Imagine a Muslim Mexican! From the sounds that the more rabidly xenophobic Americans are making, they'd probably rather spontaneously combust and run around in unimaginable agony than let a Muslim Mexican across their borders.

I wonder how many Muslim Mexicans there are. In fact... while we're taking this particular train of thought (which is a little less disturbing than the psychopathic petty-grievance assassin train earlier), I wonder how many polygamous, bisexual Muslim Mexican-Jews there are. It sounds like a pretty small demographic, but it's definitely possible, if illegal in the US - unless they make special provisions for polygamy for Muslims, which I really really doubt.

On a side note, I think polygamy is generally allowed in Malaysia, Indonesia and Singapore, but probably for only Muslims, who are allowed four wives by the Quran. Apparently, though, when a Muslim man takes multiple wives he's supposed to promise to treat them all equally, which sounds like it's actually not allowed anyway, since the guy's always going to favour the hottest wife the most.  Mmm multiple wives... mmm... um. I've lost my train of thought! Oh well.

Maybe I should go find a free-love commune somewhere... the thought of being committed to a single partner's always dismayed me a little. It's not unworkable, is it? It'd be a strange society, but everything;s strange when you're starting out... some form of no-commitment world, where the kids are raised collectively by the state (or its equivalent) and people don't have to commit unnecessarily. Hey, while we're at it, we should get the best, brightest and, well, hottest people to mate! ... oh dear, this sounds a lot like eugenics. That won't go down well with anyone - it's all Hitler's fault, really. He had a great idea, except he thought superiority was race-based. I don't have any such misconceptions! I think all people of all races should be allowed to mate as long as they possess desirable characteristics, e.g. hotness, sheer desirability, a lack of any genetic diseases, good intelligence, etc. It'd be better for the evolution of the human race in the long run!

No? [Bad Idea Bearesque pout] Awww.

Jesus, I sound like a horny 15-year-old who thinks with his dick. Or who has a dick for a brain. Damn.

I wonder how much of psychopathicalness (!) is hereditary. *casts suspicious looks at family* Or paranoia, even. One could reasonably believe that the chemical balances of brains has some influence from genetic imprints... No? And that certain balances predispose one to certain mental maladies. Hmmm.

Today is the last day of the year. It would seem that this is as good a time as any, being an artibrary day in the year, to reflect on the year; it is after all the last day of what seem to be artirary divisions in time, which is itself understood by most of the world to follow a form of calendar which is completely meaningless anywhere off-planet. In short, I'm going to write the customary year-end reflection.
Every year, I do something like this. Most years - at least the years which I bothered noticing - I was playing a video game to usher in the new year. The only game I remember actually playing is SimCity 2000, way back when I was in middle school, probably around 2002.
What was notable about this year? I finished my first year in college sometime in mid-June - by the skin of my teeth, yes, but I finished it - and travelled without my family for the first time ever (and survived!) I almost got a girlfriend, or at least I think so; looking at it another way, I was as close as hyperspace travel is to reality. I had my first paying job, though it was just an internship (and I think I was rubbish at it, but at least I know that).
That's pretty much it. How have I changed? I'm very much the same person I was at the start of the year - possibly a little less optimistic and a little more wary, but the same person nonetheless. The question brings up interesting issues about personal identity, but that's not what I'm going to be writing about here.
I've felt a little blasé about everything since the near-misses in the middle part of the year, taking everything as they've come without too much complaint either way. My priorities seem to have been warped a little - a lot of the time I find myself seeking as much short-term gratification as possible with little regard for long-term consequences. My hedonism-mode switch has been permanently soldered to an "on" position. It's terrible for my health and any kind of long-term thoughts I might be having, but I (obviously) can't help myself. The question is whether I'm ever going to snap out of it - if I do it will have to be soon. Something to think about on the way to London later.
Random meeting with a cute British-Hongkonger whose face is a bit strange and yet possesses vast amounts of cuteness while queueing to get cheap tickets for Ian McKellan's King Lear a few days ago. She's so cute she makes blood spurt from my ears. Ooh. She's got a bit of an odd name, too - named after the hospital she was born in, some saint I've never heard of. Oh, well, better a crush on some faraway chick I'll never meet again than the troublesome type which come with crushes on nearby people.
I also watched Avenue Q on Boxing Day. It's lovely - classic quotables from the play include, "Grab your dick and double-click!" and the Bad Idea Bears. Hehh.
That's all for now, I've gotta sleep.

So Bryan was in Oxford for about 2 days from Monday to Wednesday and we covered quite a few things. Among the more memorable bits were the New College choir, the Bodleian (which, sad to say, I'd never been in before this week), and a bit of a guided tour of the Christ Church Cathedral. There wasn't time for much else though I suspect that Oxford actually has a lot more to offer than I originally believed.
Other things - while not quite the same as the above, were interesting, e.g. that lunch with Marie, which led to a phone call later which didn't go so well. I'm not too surprised myself but who am I kidding anyway. Also finally met the fabled Zing (of Gabriel fame, ha ha) and Karin whose name I've heard intermittently all of last year and now have finally met.
Sarah's a non-issue, she's not even particularly friendly. Back to the drawing board.
Tutorials - BAD, BAD, BAD - have not gone for any in 2 weeks, that cannot be a good thing. Next week there's one and then three in the last week, possibly four. DIE. I have a fortnight to salvage this term and make it look at least a quarter-way decent.
Am thinking of volunteering at an Oxfam branch, probably the St. Giles one if they'll have me. I' guessing they could use the help in the run-up to Christmas. That reminds me, I should send my Christmas cards soon - term's ending, a lot of the people I'm intending to send cards to will be gone in a couple of weeks.
Careers wise, am floundering - it's as bad as I can possibly make it. Bah.
I'm going to sleep early today and get up and go DO stuff. :/ Tired in body and mind and spirit.

p/s Patrick Stewart was lovely as Macbeth. Saw him in London on Wednesday night - on top of the £38 or so I paid for the ticket, I'm now paying in exhaustion, lethargy and general deadness. But it was SO worth it.

What am I doing here? I spend inordinate amounts of time simply avoiding what needs to be done. This is quite disgusting and leads to stressful situations every Tuesday evening when I rush to get my essays done so I can submit them on time the next day, even though I actually have 5-6 whole days (usually) to finish them.

And then there are the people who study here - these people are so incredibly talented and motivated that I really have no idea what I'm doing here. I'm intelligent but I'm as lazy as hell and don't particularly care what happens really. It does seem a bit of a waste of this God-given intelligence to not want to do anything with it, but it takes so much effort and time to make something of it that it doesn't seem worth it. But I'm already in deep - think £30000 deep - so there's no real going back unless I decide to prove to everyone that I'm a heartless, selfish, worthless asshole. (Which I am. I just haven't proven it yet.)

In any case I have about 13 hours to get two essays out (well, more or less), and I've done about 20% of the total reading needed, so basically I'm doing what I do every week. Why in the world do I keep fucking myself over like this? It also provides a justification for myself to not leave my room, so "I can do my work". RUBBISH. If I managed my time properly I'd be able to do as much as everyone else is doing. Perhaps THAT'S WHY I'M NOT DOING ANYTHING! BECAUSE I'M TOO AFRAID TO DO THEM! I think my subconscious is screwing me over so I don't have to face the prospect of failure at all. If I don't do anything it'll be impossible for me to fail. Sure, there's the flip side of the coin, where if I don't do anything it'll also be impossible for me to succeed; but I don't think logic's really playing much of a role here. It's FEAR, dammit.

Now, how do I get rid of that fear? How can I make myself get out there and make something out of me? It's not too late, not by far, but it will be soon if I keep sitting here on my ass DOING ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.

So I gotta do something. When this essay cycle is over - that'd be Thursday evening - I'm going to go AND DO STUFF. The first thing would be to go for that salsa class on Thursday. I couldn't dance worth a damn the last time I went, but I've already paid £10 and at least I have a small chance of improving if I DO go as opposed to the ABSOLUTELY ZERO CHANCE if I don't!

And then we'll take it from there. The term's only half over! That leaves another five half-terms (and two vacations) where I can get STUFF DONE.

(It would probably help if I knew what I wanted me to get done.)

Pointlessness.

Yeah.

Why do I still talk to her? It bores me, and it hurts, a bit.

And all it does is amuse her.

I will rationalize it, I'm sure, but I wish I could let go.

Reminds me of 'loss aversion'. I should go read that again.

It's been a month since I came home. Sleepy. Unsatisfied. It seems that there should be something more - the dissatisfaction extends, lightly, to everything, a gossamer overlay of weariness, a coating of ash, a sheen of ennui, lightly dusted; as if, perhaps, an angel of boredom visited me in my sleep, and cursed me to wander, ever-bored. That vague emptiness is always present - it is many things. It is the feeling that one is perhaps merely an actor in a play, an elaborate, billion-player game of pretend. It is the feeling that, despite the ultimate meaninglessness of everything, one is still compelled to act out one's part. It is a feeling of weightlessness, but not of freedom; it is the weightlessness of falling, falling through space, waiting for the ground to rendezvous violently with your fragile, fragile body. Thoughts about mortal coils and whatnot flit in, unbidden.

Hamlet.

Segue, clumsily, to thoughts of Gary. Gary Lim, now a mere statistic, a flavourless memory. You won't have heard of him; I doubt anyone is even thinking about him now. Why am I thinking of him? I didn't even know him particularly well; I hardly spoke to him, really. In fact, I'm not even sure if that's his actual name; I know it's definitely "Gary", but not the surname. Ah well. A bit of context, then: A friend, from my time in the army, who died two years ago, in vaguely articulated circumstances, after a lorry interacted violently with his motorcycle while on a busy highway. The main effect at the time was shock; the long-term effect has been a decided aversion to motorcycles, or, more specifically, my getting one. It was a bit of a shock really; death is never really expected, is it? Especially not when you just waved goodbye to him an hour before, and nothing hinted at the violence... ah, well, ah, well.

I loved [spiders and skulls and graveyards] because they showed transience... I thought skulls were a way of touching forever.
- Zelda, in The Kindly Ones by Neil Gaiman.

Memories are so messy - oh, I just watched Invisible City, by Tan Pin Pin. Interesting enough film; not bad, which for a local film is saying something. It did portray the fading of memory as well as film could, I think, but in doing so it certainly alienated a fair number of viewers, as far as I could tell. Still, if you're interested in Singaporean history or history in general, it might be worth a look for you, if you're in Singapore. It's playing at the Arts House.

Memories, memories.

So there was nothing - it was just you being stupid.
- My brother, to me.

Well... well, yes, if you want to put it that way.
- Me.

I haven't been blogging for ages, but.
It's a bad sign; it means I am content.
Words - what is content? The same word in "contention" and "contentment", though perhaps "contention" has more to do with "contend" than "content". Why is "content" both used to describe the innards of something as well as a feeling of satisfaction? Random, random; meaningless babble, on a Sunday morning. It is nearly four in the morning; I have a few things to do, before I start work on Monday.
I will be missing the match between Brazil and Argentina; sadly.

Home. I have been home for nearly a month, now; and I am also not home. Where is home? Home is a state of mind; home is a concept. It is no longer a place; it is no longer the place that used to be, for me, home. There is a layer, a layer not unlike oil floating on water - a layer of dissatisfaction, of emptiness. Like a cup of water with oil on top, one is hesitant to drink of it.

Everything's a memory, with strings that tie to you.
- Jon Brion, Strings That Tie To You

Used, probably, in the context of a love lost (to time, or death, or bitterness, it is unsaid); but also, perhaps, appropriate for a memory of a place now sullied by the passage of time (nothing more than the passage of time). A memory, a memory. Memories are bittersweet; a bite, and the knowledge of times gone by floods in. Flood - a good word, here. A broken dam, a breached levee; washing away any semblance of tranquility (of peace, of happiness).

Strings that tie to you... how appropriate. The human psyche has so many bindings. I can't forget her, I want to forget her; that Eternal Sunshine memory machine would come in so handy. -sigh- I see her face in every crowd, hear her voice in every whisper. Foolishness, foolishness.

I am home, and I am not home; I do not wish to leave, and I wish to escape. I have a choice, and I do not have any choice. Ever feel like a leaf in a fast-flowing river? Right now, yes.

Two sides to every coin; but no, not a coin. A rock, perhaps, unevenly balanced, not worth very much, and not very attractive. Also, comes in varying shades of grey. Useful, perhaps, for hitting people upside the head with, should the need arise.

I play video games. Why? To escape; to dull the pain. It has the same distracting quality as the steady to-and-fro of a rocking chair. What pain, what pain? I lead a charmed life. I also lead a decidedly boring one. Complaints; never satisfied. Work will do me good; it will take my mind off things.
Tired, tired, tired. Soon, back to England, back to dreary grey weather, back to the soul-wearying grind; away from humidity, away from rigidly comforting familiarity, away from the ugly crowds. Soon, soon. Too soon, and too late.