CHILDREN: imagine the most narcissistic adult you know, then strip away their years of human experience.

I decided to take a sick leave from sitting around doing nothing to hopefully sitting around elsewhere contemplating the next step in my life while doing nothing.


RIGHT, just got a text from the mother telling me that I'm going to be picked up for dinner in 35 minutes. I take an hour to shower, so this means that I'll be going to Jack's Place in my birthday suit all soapy and drippy.


Don't judge me. It's not wasting water if I do it once in 3 days.


In the mean time, READ HER. 

Running out of witty things to title my posts.

It's very difficult to be funny and light and humorous when you're writing with a heavy heart. It's very difficult to be clear and concise when your thoughts are whirling around in a mess all jumbled up like the cords on your earphones get when you leave them in your bag for too long. It's very difficult to tell a person (what more an audience) funny anecdotes and attempt to be funny when you don't feel remotely funny. 


You know what the worst thing about feeling like this is? When you don't know why you feel like this. It's the same with being happy for no apparent when you wake up, and it feels like sunshine and butterflies and unicorns when in reality it's pouring buckets outside. You don't know precisely why you're happy, but you let it go and don't let it bother you because it's a good thing. You immerse yourself in the feeling, and enjoy it for as long as you can. You walk around the entire morning, desperately clinging on to that feeling, pushing away and ignoring every thing that threatens to burst your little bubble.You're happy, and you just don't care.


Well, it's the exact opposite when you're down in the pits. You analyze and think and over-think and stay up all night long wondering what exactly is wrong with you. Something's gotta give, you figure. But no, nothing does. Now you're desperately trying to remember when was the last time you smiled, and why. You watch an episode of a comedy, you watch the entire fucking season; you read shit, funny shit stupid dumb shit depressing shit; you listen to music, the entire range from classical to opera to house to r&b to Justin fucking Bieber. Nothing works. You're back to obsessing about the trigger, that tiny little thing that set you off. You rationalize and hold a mental debate and come to the conclusion that you were over-reacting. You feel worse. And you start from the top again. 


Whenever I feel this way, I cut my hair. I can't do it this time because I just went for a haircut yesterday. 

Carey Mulligan's look was more or less what I was aiming for.

Looks better/worse (depending on your angle and height) in person.

I guess I only have my deluded self (and this blind friend of mine who told me I sort of looked like an Asian version of her) to blame. I am now stuck in my vicious cycle of depression, with no hair left to cut.