living for a hating, dying of a love

Saturday, December 25
1:53 pm

at the suggestion that her pirated dvd of troy from shanghai was censored because it had been filmed directly from a cinema:

C: but why would they need to censor anything? their toilets don't have doors!

merry christmas, y'all.

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5:38 am

rage entry #1042

see, almost everyone knows the longstanding enmity i have going with our nation's public transport system. what most don't know is why. strangely enough, people seem to think i dislike the system because it's cheap, and therefore beneath me.

ok, firstly? it's not cheap.

secondly, it's not just "dislike", either.

and lastly... guys, really. how long have you known me? disliking something because it's cheap? when have i ever done that? cheap is good! i like cheap! how would i be able to live with myself otherwise?

anyway, back to the public transport thing. if you look on the positive side of things, really, i don't hate it as much as i could. when i take the bus, for example, i don't emit the same awful keening wail of despair that comes bubbling out my mouth every time i peruse the ST forums. the Moue of Disgust and Eyeroll of Contempt are deployed instead.

i do, however, get inordinately annoyed at other people when i'm on the bus or train. maybe it's the enclosed space, maybe it's my complete inability to deal with even a minute's exposure to concentrated idiocy, whichever. i'm even willing to take the blame for that one - this zero tolerance approach towards halfwits can be quite the liability sometimes!

but look. roaches. children on heelys. vomit. tvmobile. screaming children. poop-munching mouth breathers. perverts. people who think their ringtones sound like chimes of joy. crazy people. bus conductors. children again, but this time they're licking the mrt poles. drunken guys. tvFUCKINGMOBILE.

ah, tvmobile. has ever a throbbing vein been as apt a symbol for anything as you?

i have had a lifetime's worth of experiences in the damn trains and buses. hell, i'll see any story you've got and raise you the endless purgatory that is michelle chong playing twins and praising herself like the attention-starved little whore that she is.

(once again, this is a personal vendetta. it is not some random synaptic misfire that resulted in my hating her, though the netballers will be quick to tell you that there are plenty of those around.)

i seem to have wandered off the topic.

oh, i know. you're going to tell me how such bitter, rampallian shrewishness cannot possibly be good for the complexion (well, you say "soul" and i say "complexion"). keep it up, your face is gonna freeze like that.

Thursday, December 9
1:28 pm

sideshow me

so i'm stumbling home at 6 this morning, sleepy and buzzed and pretty much generating my own happy little atmosphere of absolut fumes and cigarette smoke.

i bathe, change and hop into bed, snuggling in all prepared for the fantastic slumber that usually occurs after minor boozage and major lack of sleep.

and i fall asleep.

for twenty minutes.

because that's when i am woken by the most intense burning and itching sensation in the palm of my hands. i'm not kidding here, it felt exactly like what i'd imagine peeing with an STD would feel like.

anyway, because i'm still incredibly tired, i scratch irritably at them. and i say "scratch irritably", but my palms cry "draw blood". you see, the thing is, despite my being the lightest sleeper on earth, i can sometimes get back to sleep after being woken, but only if i'm not fully roused from my restful state. however - and this is important - if i am too much disturbed, i will neverevereverever be able to go back to sleep again. this may go a long way to explaining my constitution in the mornings for some of you. point being, i wasn't exactly very inclined to question the strangeness of burny itchy palms at that time. it was more of a please-just-let-me-get-to-sleep-i'll-do-anything thing.

so i scratch. (irritably.) and i go to sleep.

for twenty minutes.

and this goes on for, oh, say, three hours. during which, just so you know, the itch has gone from merely agonizing to bloody intolerable. it seems pain decided to join in the itch-and-burn party somewhere along the line. and at the point where i've pretty much exfoliated down to the bone, the itch subsides a little.

then my legs start itching.

but i'm calm. i knew that i'd received a number of mosquito bites on the leg through the night, so i didn't get extremely angry and fling a pillow out the window. or anything.

so anyhow, it'd struck me around the second or so hour that violently angry palms do not qualify as very normal palmal activity. i'd begun to entertain delightful images of fleas leaving tiny, invisible bites on my palms because of some filthy toilet seat i'd touched. and fleas, leaping camouflaged over my black sheets to other parts of my body. and me, having to shave myself bald and soak in turpentine before i could be let out to play with the other puppies.

at some point, i think, it's possible that i'd started dreaming.

i wake up.

the palms, while red and swollen, were not itching. i knew they were red and swollen because i'd pried open an eyelid to take a look. and things were looking good.

and then i turn my hand around.

at this point, i'd like you to imagine that this story had an accompanying soundtrack. now imagine the point where the music goes really wonky, and the loud, screamy violins of terror start up.

my hand was covered in rashes.

i flick the sheets off, look down at my legs, and for that one moment, i wonder who switched my legs out while i was asleep. there were lumps, huge and tiny and feta cheesey, all over my legs. i repeat the process stripped down, and confirm that the rashes are all over.

it's here that the itching kicked in.

(the story's almost hit the time horizon, and it's probably way past its expiration date so i'll speed it up.)

so i rush to the doctor in a blind panic, who confirms that it is an allergic reaction, though to what, she doesn't know, and i barely restrain myself from snapping that all those years of med school must've really paid off.

(i was very, very tired. and itchy.)

i manage to keep from angering the person who keeps me in the happy pills, though. i get roughly four billion pills.

aaand now i'm at home. typing this, because tired as i am, i cannot get back to sleep. i've just realised that i forgot to mention to the good doctor that i'm currently on another massive cocktail of meds because of the wisdom tooth extraction that i underwent a few days ago. ah well, maybe the combination will form some glowy substance inside me and i'll get those superpowers i've always wanted. a girl can dream.

you know, the rashes look really hideous. and bear also in your mental image of me the bazhang that has taken over my cheek because of the operation.

i should just go ahead and pitch a tent and charge admission.