at this particular moment in time, i'm soaking up the ambience of my favourite jaunt, immersing in the blues and familiarity of the place. i feel like an episode of cheers, returning once again to a place that feels like an extension of my personality. it's been almost a routine to come every weekend; 3 items at $8.90 and a cup of british breakfast tea, with some cold milk, please. i didn't get my fix this weekend, time didn't permit but a twist of fate landed me back on the same exact spot, one day late.

i sit here, with my cup of tea and my book of tales, or more accurately, their book of tales, deliberating on the realisation that i have not had a deep thought in my mind for the longest time. since when had i shut my brain and put it in shallow mode, i can't really tell. one day melts into another, routine takes over. the way it is going, i'm not surprise if dementia greets me early.

a familiar tune from the 80s is crooning over the air, i stop for a minute to listen to the song that has not entered my mind for the longest time. it's true, old songs stir up memories. if only i can remember what those memories are. if only i can remember the name of the song :-p

i'm the epitome of the poor little rich girl, with no vision to inspire for, no goals to fight for. things come way too easy, yet i'm afraid of the time when it won't. one such day will come, it's inevitable. i try to find my own goals, my own dreams, but i think i've left it behind somewhere. in the interim i make do with some short impertinent ones, ones that i'm not really impassioned to meet. life is so and life goes on.

i'm all alone again in this lounge, everybody has moved on with their day. mine is beckoning but i'm hiding, reluctant to join the craziness, the shallowness, the meaningless, craving for another moment of escape. in this place time stands still, reality is separated by a window glass. i can see the real world beyond, but they can't see me. this is the way i like it.

my phone is ringing. one call, and i'm gone.

my pink sneakers are alright, but when justin bieber wears his almost identical purple sneakers, he is so way cool, and she wants a pair just like his. hello dear daughter of mine, mine looks just like his, the only difference is that it is pink. why isn't mine cool?

*pout*

this is the warped perception of a teenage girl. this is what the mothers of teenage daughters have to put up with. :-p

i spent the last 3 days trying to wipe out the memory of my computer and restart everything from a clean slate. over the years, we have accumulated too much deadweight that the computer was running laggard. erasing files, pictures and unnecessary programs just wasn't good enough, so i decided to restore the computer to day 0. the hubs said that i was wasting good time, that i could have paid someone else to do it and made better use of my time. ahhhhh, but the satisfaction of resurrecting something from the dead, and breathing back air to it a little by little, one driver by one driver, one program by one program, that is nothing that money can buy. now i've reconnected my link to the internet world again and my computer is whole once more, and i am one proud satisfied person.

have you ever missed someone whom you see everyday? he is right there, infront of me most times, lazing around watching tele or hunched up in some corner playing his nds. yet i miss him so much that it hurts. not the him now, the one who is starting to have the coolness and rebelliousness of a breaking out teenager. not the wise mouth, smart talking youngster who never listens to instructions. not the one who has me screaming night and day to pick up his stuffs and do his homework, but the adorable little boy with the toothy grin. the one whose innocence shines out when he cracks silly jokes in the sweetest voice. the one who makes me smile and is so affectionate. someone sneaked in when i wasn't paying attention and made a switch. i am still me, but he is someone else now.



he is still my son and i love him, undoubtedly. but i missed the other one too.

motherhood is a thankless job. that is a given. i dare say that none of us go around expressing our gratitude for the sacrifices that our mother has endured for us. nor wear our love on the corner of our mouth. we are that and we expect as much. it is in the mysterious manual of motherhood that they give you the day you signed up for it. no thanks required. still, it was a slap in the face when they dismiss your request ever so nonchantly, without so much as a second of thought. like the pesky mosquito, they swat away with a flick of their hand and turn their attention back to the tv. flushed down the drain in an instant all the running around that you have been doing, all the hours that you have put in. was it all worth it? love isn't a circle. what goes around doesn't come around. neither is it a business deal. you don't get back sixteen ounces of love for one pound of affection. i have a vague memory of my mother crying when i was a teenager. apparently i was giving her grief. how, why, i still do not understand to this day.
perhaps it does come a full circle, just not in the way we expect it to.

life shouldn't be so tiring. but i am tired. work is draining all of my energy. it's not so much that i have so many things to do, eventhough the pile of work seems to be mushrooming at a nuclear-experiment-gone-astray speed. what tires me is interaction with inefficient people. there are hundreds and thousands of things to do. you call people up, give some instructions, pass work handled to the next person, and you move on to the next work on hand. however, the next person in line doesn't get back to you for days, weeks on end. the work doesn't get done, or it gets done and is sitting in somebody's drawer cultivating mold for yet another evil experiment. after a while, you realise that there is no feedback on the work that is supposed to be done. in other words, it comes back to your court. you have been standing still, motionless for weeks without knowing it, not moving forward, eventhough you have done everything that you are suppose to do. you call up the other person and try your hardest best not to shout or even raise your voice. in your sweetest voice, you ask what happened to the work. in the friction of a second, they remember the piece of mold in their drawer. sigh. and things get moving again. if you are lucky. if you are not, the response is an 'ahhhh, i'll get right to it', followed by another prolonged period of amnesia and things are still standing on the same spot.

this, times ten, times hundred, times infinity gets a little tiresome. i don't want to call them idiots. heck, i WILL call them idiots!! why are they attracted to me like moth to a candle. i can't stand mediocrity. i do not expect professionals, i do not expect experts of the highest levels. i just want people who can get a simple job done. why aren't people doing their job? i think it is the sweet syrupy voice with all the necessary courtesy. i should substitute that for the screaming of the shrew and some kick-ass attitude. i'm going to collapse from aggravation very soon.