cakes and tea, sir?

firstly, what i said about all rearing to go in the previous post, that was bullshit. apparently western medication makes you feel like shit. and i spiralled into an awful awful sedated grogginess coupled with the inability to breathe, eat, sleep, think and speak.
but yeah, i'm ALL better now and i've even stopped sounding like a man.
spending the day in bookstores is just not as fulfilling as it used to be. 1. because seeing all the books that i cannot afford to purchase is depressing. 2. they never have the books i really want. 3. i have too many books to catch up with at home and hence i'm left in a frenzied confusion of where to start, what to read, what to buy and how much to spend. maybe i'm just old and boring.

lately i'm often left wondering why i am not able to tell stories like i used to. those quirky rambly ones that never made sense to anyone including me after awhile. one thought that keeps popping up is that my muse, my oh so beautiful remy has died somehow. misplaced, maybe. lost like a little child in a big shopping mall, waiting for the mallpeople to announce his being lost. i'm still waiting to hear his name being whispered. i have pretty smelling lilies waiting, wrapped in green tissue paper, to lay on remy's grave.

poor child. penelope is nothing like you, but she's just as wonderful. well, almost. she hasn't said anything yet, but you can tell that she would. and like you, she's so beautiful.

mummy made me crushed ice with fruits. it tastes lovely. too bad i cannot cuddle up in it and feel all safe like i would if i cuddle up to a dead bear beside a roaring fireplace. i'm saving the peaches for last.

that bitter taste in your mouth, the sweet sweet feeling of freedom

really, freedom? pfft. wake up. it doesn't exist. but let's not get into that this early in the morning. i still have a fully medicated/sedated head to nurse. deep thinking makes me pukey right now.

i spent an entire hour ranting about hedonism in livejournal. most of that hour was spent either retyping typos or spazzing out momentarily but nobody really needed to know that thanks to the backspace key and that certain aloofness of online blogging. you know what depresses me? the self censorship that occurs unconsciously when one is writing. because someone might be reading what you write, you'll never come all out with your deepest darkest secrets. people might shun you, so you hide things. you don't like being ugly afterall.

anyway! i'm all better and all rearing to go. uh... right after i take that shower, that is.

by the way, money will not buy you cool. you're all just in fucking denial.

ha. ha.

so it took me more than a year to figure this thing out. i feel stupid, really. it's simple things like this that i fail to understand. i don't think blog publishing can get any simpler than blogger.com and/or diaryland.com yet i have never got around to figuring out the whole shebang. -_- i shall now comfort myself with the thought that i know how to refurbish real diaries with ribbons and tissue paper and a whole load of pva glue. if that doesn't make me feel smarter, i don't know what will.
ok... i'm just kidding around.
next up: figure out how to link other people's journal and put up userpics.
i suck.
online journal count: most probably 8
online journal actually used: one. ok, three if you include this one which i would most probably forget that i own.
contemplated on whether to tweak journal codes and decided that i have better things to do like... gee... brushing my teeth and going to bed. maybe later when i'm REALLY enthused. then perhaps i'll even put up the new website i've been meaning to create.
i'm feeling sickly and it's been a while since i have anything to say that can beat "i feel like frizzy hair. i'm there but i'm all over". it makes one wonder what i was on back then and what i'm on right now. and frankly, i kinda miss being that melancholic little cynic.