pop

i overslept last night. so now i can't sleep. celebrate, my bosses. i might not sleep at work this night. might. only 4-ish. still plenty of time left, maybe an hour. that was a joke. i don't sleep at work. well, not always.
don't you just hate it when you've done all the not sleeping and the coffee-drinking and the saying no to movies and dinners for a report (two! two reports) and when you think: finally your (you and your red eyes and your seven million zits) turn, the class (classes! classes!) ends (erm, end).

mommy always reminds me to not forget my vitamins (yeah, they're really helpful, psychologically) but i always do. like yesterday. memory problem; hope i could forget other things too, but let's not do that now.

the gang (that was so cool, mayee!) watched wanted last night. i promised i'd watch with them but when i arrived home the bed was there and i seriously needed sleep. so now i'm the loser graduate student with mediocre reports and a sad movieslife. my last movie was still kung fu panda! should maximize cuts.

woke up fourteen/fifteen hours later with a terrible headache. too much sleep kills, right? so cold here at the office. i do not mess with air conditioners though. someone turn it off for me, please. i'm into pop music now, by the way. talk to me. anyone.

performance principle

i suddenly wished i were bored again; you hate it when you do nothing but you hate it when you've like tons of shit in front of you, too. human nature. or just my nature. i blame the inconsistency on something beyond me, something immune to change.

grad school's giving me the worst time. not that i'm overworked, there are hours when i just lie in bed and do nothing, you know those hours right, you do that, too. i hate oxymorons. doing nothing. i don't read. my house is a mess; a dumpsite'd be cleaner. i think i saw a thousand roaches last night. the bug killer is in the kitchen. or somewhere.

yeah, i wrote school. i always knew it'd be hard. not academically, or anything. hard for me, as a, this became a joke among friends, as a person. managing time, that is the hardest thing in the world. doing things without being told, that has to be the second hardest. but i won't quit. because i never do. frailty. i envy quitters. they live life. i imagine it.

there's an effort to stay away from melodrama, of any kind. skip the lonely tom waits songs. listen to the really fantastic ones. fantastic meaning really fantastic. loud. cuss-inducing. fuck you. there.

livelearn

roger federer still is the best tennis player ever. no, not forgetting the french open final (or finals: third year now). i realized dents are as important as achievements, and when one faces the best claycourt tennis player ever, a single victory becomes a great achievement (hamburg last year). that was a concession. what would you call rafael nadal if not that? kaye still hates him, she does not get the djokovic intrusion.

i take tennis seriously, it's almost a religion, or it is. we forget the humanity of tennis players, we think of them as gods. roger's almost godlike; clay ruins the perfection. yet remember: steffi graf had monica seles, martina navratilova had chris evert, and evert martina, pete sampras won all those majors and never reached any french open final, bjorn borg kept losing at us open, rod laver had "those" years.

forgiven, roger. after four days. be gorgeous again, what's that thing on your face? been there since monte carlo. maybe earlier. you need a dermatologist.

count the headlights on the highway

film geeks would tell you their favorite movie scene ever's the shower scene in psycho, or death's first appearance in the seventh seal, or that pause in the last supper parody in viridiana. my favorite: (and no, not calling myself a geek! geeks are cool) the bus scene in almost famous: big fight, tiny dancer plays on the radio, they all sing. why'd i install limewire again? poor makmak.

suddenly had this strange, empty feeling. like there's nothing out there, and also nothing inside me, too. not sad; that's scary by the way. misery connects one to this world of humans. failures grow out of hoping. empty, not looking forward to anything. this is why one shouldn't live alone. i should start sleeping.

brief and wondrous

the brief wondrous life of oscar wao is only the third book i've read with such, hmm, quickness, and when i finally finished the book i was convinced junot diaz is the best writer ever. same thing when i read the virgin suicides, that ending's so marvelous i had to read it out loud to make sure i got everything jeffrey eugenides was saying. then there's a million little pieces, the one book kaye and i both loved. she used to mock all my anne rice books before (was young, had to have that phase in my reading life), i mocked her for not reading.

sure there are rushdies and morrisons and mcewans, but james frey, jeffrey, and junot i admire because they write the way i want to, or i'd want to, did that make sense? it's like loving almost famous; sure martin scorsese and paul thomas anderson and robert altman make the most amazing movies... not saying cameron crowe's just a popular filmmaker, or that the junot's second rate, i'm stopping.

oscar wao is one unforgettable character, obese and perpetually inlove, you get that that's unrequited, right. i was a second away from screaming "i am so oscar wao" when the adifferentbookstore person said it first. oh well, oscar's way luckier than i am, and that's with his family fuku and all. you think all those junot diaz spanglish wouldn't inspire another melodramatic blogpost, you're wrong.

post-siamese dreams

trying to save. for cambodia. told mom. says i should go. the trip's an excellent idea, she says. i have to have money, though, you know, for the plane ticket, and maybe food, in case that's necessary. plane ticket tops the list.

cambodia is probably the only thing i'm looking forward to right now. remember thailand, and how you paid all those refund charges for nothing? trying to erase that from memory, except the credit card bill's somewhere in the house; will burn it when i find it. hope nothing goes wrong. school's becoming a major responsibility again, well it should be, but you get my point, right. oh, i'm such a complainer.

the remains of the night

there's stuff on the floor and a weird smell in the kitchen. and when i got home from dinner with kaye, there's a note on the door. neighbors think there are other people living with me, because the water bill spiked. it doesn't take a philosophy degree (i majored in journalism) to find the fucking error with that statement slash accusation. but then there really are stupid people living in this world, the ones i know use yellowgreen post-its.

not sorry. i value my friends, thank you very much. sometimes i wish i weren't living alone, but i guess i have no choice. i am most comfortable this way, and as long as i pay rent, and pay on time (my mom does actually, but you get the point), i'll sleep late and laugh out loud when someone says something funny.