I crave sugar badly. However, I can't have any. Do you know how disgusting ais kacang combinations are without the sugar syrup?!

Superduperglorious Friend and I had a rapturous reunion last night. Next on the list are Joy and Andy! I only need to shake off this constant need for naps.

I'm being deprived of my favourite foods. Mum has said those foods are not on the list of acceptable foods. I must do without, for the next two weeks.

My beloved RAV4 (I'm pampered beyond means) has been covered with a car covering for past three months because Mum decided not to pay the road tax, being that there are two other cars for her to drive. Hence, I'm carless until she pays the road tax on the RAV.

On top of that, I've been ordered to tutor Darren on the piano. Last time I did that, we ended up hating each other's guts.

So, for the past two days, I have been pouting like a spoilt, rich girl in my waking hours.

It's getting a tad dull. I'm looking to liven things up a bit by being the social butterfly - maybe tomorrow.

"Are you of berganjoh-ing again?!"
"Yep."
"Hmpfh. Don't come home too late."
"Okay."

Mum took one look at me and said, "We're starting you on a diet tomorrow." Dad mentioned casually, "You do look a little rounder."

I ignored them and gaped at Darren. He's a hefty young fellow now, and his head reaches my chin. Mum noticed my goldfish impression, and nudged me. "Look at the size of him!" I burst out. "He's so tall. So big. OMG, look at the size of him!" He's built like a young bull now, for goodness sakes. "What have you been eating, boy?!!!" The boy in question ducked his head bashfully and disappeared into the car.

So yes, I'm being cajoled into doing the Atkins diet. She then muttered something about a liver cleansing diet, or perhaps a vegetarian diet, or maybe another cleansing diet. Good lord! Next thing you'll know, I'll be eating bananas upside down just cause she reckons I would lose weight if I did it that way.

The woman is determined that I lose at least 5 kgs before I go back to Melbourne. I'm inclined to let her have her way. I'm going to a wedding in three weeks. The first wedding of my generation (I went to university with the bride) - I must look good.

My heart is drenched in wine

Sun, he said, "Censorship should be the last thing you practice here." Amrit, she said, "Woman, we are entitled to 98% of you, so spill! Now."

I am re-examining my reasonings behind ianthe lee. Yet again. Remember the last time I re-examined reasonings? This thing called a blog moved from in.a.minute, and evolved to ianthe lee, primarily because I didn't want him privy to my comings and goings, much less my "inner thoughts" any longer. The thought of him reading my words just because he had nothing to do made my skin crawl - which is rather ironic, since y'll are reading them too when you have nothing to do, and "you, a perfect stranger".

I like the discipline of public writing. I like to see where my thoughts are taking me, and indirectly, taking you. I like the weight of the words as I push them out. Ocassionally, when the sun, moon and stars are in alignment, the words flow so quickly from my fingers that I miss the occasional word. But a lot of the time, it's like mining an almost spent gold mine. I know the words are there, but man, it's a bitch trying to wash off the dirt, gravel, mud, whatever the gems are coated in to get at the shiny stuff. stv said, "Words are bastards. But sometimes they pretend to be your friends." They're really not like that. It's just that they're stubborn things, and I'm too rigid with control to let them be what they want to be, especially when it means that the words are revealing the core of me.

I have my many faults, my many vanities, my countless insecurities. I know my less than pretty side. I'm not sure that I want you to know it as well. There is an underlying fear, like most people, that you won't love me anymore if I spill my guts on a daily basis - the fear of rejection is a powerful inhibitor. So I am constantly on my best behaviour, so sweet it'll make your teeth ache, always prattling on about the surface happenings, never letting you have a word in edgewise to reject me.

My heart is a frail little thing, but I am no heroine to sacrifice myself for the good of the people. I'm not going on hiatus. I'll just be a little more ... me?

Denning and I leaving on Sunday on the mid-afternoon flight. Our feet will step on home ground, our eyes meet our parents and our youngest brother's eyes at midnight local time that very night. Joy, I will definitely be in touch next week, and we shall eat eat, drink and be merry.

I am looking forward to the simplicity of family.

You know what my problem is this week? The week, its happenings are inhibiting me. I'm distracted by inconsequential everyday chores. I'm too busy thinking about the list mum emailed me, and rushing about trying to get the best prices. I'm too busy writing up the simple css file for a website I'm co-writing. I'm too busy getting my head around the facts I need to tell primary school children about the Melbourne sewerage system. I'm too busy ahhing and ohhing over the mockup of our book, which we are launching next week. I'm too busy trying to re-organise the house, because it's sure as hell Jason won't do it, before we leave. I'm too busy paying the bills that have been relegated to me by the treasurer of the household, ie Jason the financial tyrant. I'm too busy organising a meeting for the leadership program, then too busy writing up the minutes. I'm too busy being busy.

Hence, writer's block.

Also, strange things has happened to my modem. Inconvenience galore - I can't get at my email!

I'm going to attempt house cleaning now. Thing is, I hate cleaning.

Writer's block. Huge writer's block. Oh well, I have to pack and repack my bags anyhow.

V-A-C-A-T-I-O-N! 7 weeks where I don't have to crack open a book to plan an "engaging, interactive and diverse" lesson. 7 beautiful weeks! Darren and I are going to have so much fun. That is, if he doesn't drive me to insanity because of his stubborness first.

V-A-C-A-T-I-O-N! I'm leaving this weekend. V-A-C-A-T-I-O-N!

I so deserve it this year.

"Nothing is ever nothing." I've hit a brick wall with my words today. I've deleted sentence after sentence for the past hour. I am not liking the non-productiveness of it. So, I've decided to contemplate Pharoan in retrospectacles, instead.

Money's disappearing from my purse, and for that matter, my bank account, at an alarming rate. Blast it, yet another sale tomorrow. Omg, next week too. Pre-Christmas sales are the very devil. Thank all the deities I will be out of temptation's way in 12 days.

Gee. 12 more sleeps.

"What will you do at home?!" Jason asked, with an incredulous look on his face.

"Umm. I don't know? Stuff?"

Now I'm asking myself the same question. What will I be doing?! I can't seem to fully grasp the concept of a v-a-c-a-t-i-o-n. Ernie Dingo's in my head, saying "Go on, get out there", but I'm just sitting there, staring blankly at him.

DONE!! As of an hour ago, the year is officially over. Results are a mere formaility now. I'm basking in the sun, by the sea, till January 12, 2003.

Yippee!!!!!!

Sweet silence is beckoning me to sit and stare longingly into shop windows for a while. Unfortunately, the 'better' part of me is screaming, "One last assignment. COME ON, FINISH IT ALREADY! Then, you can go commune with your strange imaginary friends! BUT NOT BEFORE YOU FINISH THAT BLOODY ESSAY THAT WAS DUE YESTERDAY!!!!"

So, I suppose I should go finish that essay.

It's either going to be talk of the weather (hot, hot, hot, I think I'm slightly sunburnt) or silence.

I choose silence. It's been a while since I sat and considered the stillness.

third draft on what was nothing to say

words travelling a merry-go-round
a heart cliched beyond Angel's means
fifteen minutes to go --
what happened to roses on february 14?

crushed satin of pristine soul
a lover's prize teased beyond ordinary reason
the young pocked homeless begs for a dollar --
when did silence become a weapon?

I had said, "I feel sorry for him."

Insomniac said, "What for?! There's no point feeling sorry for him. Do what I do - ignore his existence. He's not worth my notice."

I said, "I can't. It's so frustrating for me to see him waste away his life like that, and on such a girl! He is capable of so much more than that. It's so frustrating sitting here, knowing that I can't do anything about it. One, he won't listen because he has his blinkers on. Two, I haven't the right any more. My hands are tied, and it's frustrating me no end."

She said, "You're not cold blooded enough. Your heart's too soft, it's not stony enough."

That's one of the nicest things anyone has said to me. My heart has come a long way in these two years. Now anyone can come to me with puppy dog eyes and I'll let them get away with murder.

Mac, he said, "You, little girl, you think too much. Mountains out of molehills, heh?"

I just say, "But my heart, it won't obey. It just won't do, without you."

It's getting hot in here
so take off all your clothes

Hot. I hate Melbourne when the temperature gets above 30°C, as it did today, and as it will tomorrow. I don't function very well under those conditions. My feet swell, well, yes, you didn't need to know that. I get headaches from the heat. I lose my appetite. I get cranky. I do everything ten times slower because everything takes a lot more effort. I positively wilt.

Hot. Very hot. It's disgusting.

I'm dreading February a little. The temperature sometimes hits 40°C then and that is positively unbearable for me. I go on my final rounds then (before my internship in July), in February. I'm not sure how I would cope. Teaching is already an exhausting job under 'normal' conditions - you're on the go all the time, always on your toes. If I have to deal with extreme temperatures too ... Let's just say, I think Panadols might be my new best friend then.

One thing though, about the warm weather. It brought all the fillies out to play at Flemington Racecourse. The train was a sea of hats this morning.

I'm going to bed with a block of ice on my forehead.

I dread meeting new people, really I do. I have to psych myself up completely, because I hate small talk. Here's a perfect stranger, what do you say to him? To her? To them?

"Lovely weather we're having."
"Yes, lovely."
"Yes, hmm."
The view outside the window becomes very absorbing after that.

"So what do you do?"
"Oh, me? I'm an engineer?"
"Oh. Right." I fiddle with the stem of my wine glass. I peer at it, consider the color. I fidget. I hum.
"How about you?"
"Me? Umm ... I'm between positions at the moment."
"Oh. Right. Hmm."
"I'll be back." I never return.

I hate small talk. I really do. Get the point, why don't you. I always do.

"Have you done that mass transfer assignment?!"
"Well, hello to you too, Liv." Dave would fold his paper and place it neatly on the table in front of him.
"Yes, yes, good morning, whatever. Have you done it?! Let me have a look."
"Yes, I'm fine too. I won't take you up on coffee, I'm trying to cut down."
"What are you on about?!! Have you done it?!"

Insomniac and I have the same appalling habits. I answer my calls with a cool, "Yes?" She answers hers with a languid, "Hah?" Occassionally we bark out a, "What?!"

The phone connects. Insomniac answers it.
"Where are you?" I say.
"At home," she says.
"What are you doing there?! I thought you were meant to come into the city!!"
"I changed my mind."
"Wahlau. Okay."
We hang up. End of story, get on with life. Simplicity indeed.

Jason and I are similar too.

He rings. I answer, "What?!"
"I'm going to be late. Get your own dinner."
"Okay."
We hang up. 5 secs, max!

It may seem rude, but damn it, it's efficient. I love the system.

So there, I don't do parties with a million strangers because I have to talk small talk. I don't understand small talk. I'm no good at it. I also have this tendency to either stare into space for long periods or get silly on only one glass of wine. So Joy, if you're taking me to meet the hobbits, you'll have to bear with me not speaking (unless spoken to) for the first 30 minutes, at the very least - I'll be too busy staring into space, thinking of sparkling things to say, and then failing miserably.

Three more weeks! Three more days! Four pieces of assessment tasks! One more class! Three more days! One more class! Three more days! Three more weeks!

"I rang to remind you to renew your visa before you come home."

"I've had that written in my diary since the start of the semester, Mum."

I know I'm flighty, but I'm not that flighty.

Hang on, it's two more days.

Heh.

We are miffed. It's Cup day tomorrow. Everyone takes the day off. Everyone. Except us poor Uni Melb students. We have to attend classes.

Therefore, in the middle of my Curriculum and Assessment workshop tomorrow, I am going to insist the workshop leader switch on the tv so we can watch the race. It is the race that stops the nation. Everything, I mean, everything, stops for this race.

I traditionally back the Caulfied Cup winner - if I had put money down on Ethereal last year, I would have won a bundle! Thing is, I can't remember who won the Caulfield Cup!

Hell hath no fury, no? And boy, do those fires burn.

I so dearly want to wring his neck. Push him into a vat of boiling oil. Shove him into cow pats and get the cows to stomp on him. Slap her silly. Wring her neck. Call them really awful names. Earn huge amounts of money and adorn myself with diamonds so as to blind them, for he most certainly will never earn that sort of money in a million years and she will most likely sleep her way to it.

It's a large case of bruised ego and damnably hurting pride. It's getting too damn repetitious for words and I just want to be over it. The quickest way I can think of of getting over it, is to jump back on the horse again. The thing is though, after that fall, I'm rather wary of the beasts. How on earth do you discard something that was quite precious and meant the world to you, anyway?

He threw it back, right in my face, as if it was nothing. That hurts. A lot. I'm still reeling from it. I may laugh about it with my mates and joke about cream pies and hot oil, but it still hurts. You give someone a small piece of your heart, with the unspoken promise that that they'll take good care of it. When they don't, when they let it gather dust, when they take it for granted, when they kick it under the bed and forget all about it - well, it hurts.

There's no use in saying, "I didn't mean to hurt you," because you did. There's no use in saying, "Oh, I'm sorry, I was never there for you," just so you'll feel better about yourself. For goodness sakes, you just said that for the sake of saying it. You never meant it. You never meant it. Do you know how much that hurts?

Have you never thought about the consequences of your words, of your actions? Every action has an opposite and equal reaction - one of the Laws of Motion - it applies to human interaction, too. Never, never assume that your words or your actions have no consequence. They do. I know that first hand.

So don't come 'round to ask how I am. Don't ask about how things are going. Don't be a hypocrite and pretend like you care about me and my doings. If you did, you would never had done it this way.

I do bleed when you put a blade to me, you know.

Criticisms are a necessary evil, don't you think? I'm on my third draft, and apparently I am nowhere close to final final draft yet. I'm feeling about two inches tall right now. There is a sense of urgency to it all because editing begins on Friday, so final final drafts must be completed by then.

Here's another Sunday devoted to rewrites. At least we have the perfect weather for staying in.

Norah Jones' Don't know why is seducing me with images of Fred. I want to be Ginger.

my heart is drenched in wine
you'll be on my mind forever

Insomniac rang at lunch to ask what I was doing tonight and if I wasn't doing anything major like assignments or something, would I take her out and go somewhere because she's had two law exams this week and she's damn tired and her brain is dead and she just needs to get out if only just for a coffee, she really didn't care and that it's okay, she's received 'permission' from her other half to play and would I please come out with her.

So we're going to see Emily of Emerald Hill with Ivan Heng playing Emily at the Vic Arts Centre tonight.

i went to il gambero for a chat or two
shared a foccacia, a bowl of chips too
we felt left out and moaned a bit
but soon after crashed the big table,
demanded our share of talk.

by nine, we still hadn't left
dinner had turned into lattes and two long blacks
two other hopped the table, five other took their leave
six transformed a planner into lines of tentative dates.
ideas flew about - we debated, discarded and dreamt
hummed and hawwed and twitched and tsked
napkins were destroyed as plans were made
pretty soon, my head began to spin.
we are but 25 or so, leading three - no, four separate teams
100 under our wing, 140 to come
could we do it? certainly we can.

come ten, we said 'it is late. we're for bed'
i said, 'is anyone going down to the station?
there's a train i need to catch.'
'i'll walk you down, it's on my way,' he said quickly -
i've never seen him before
he was rather nice looking, intelligent to boot
he asked about the database and if i thought
there ought to be changes
i said, 'the colors are ew, but then, of course, i'm a girl'
he laughed and said, 'perhaps you and i, we could
do something about that'
i said, 'perhaps,' and asked if he was going to be on my team
he said, 'perhaps, we shall see. maybe
i should get your details'
i said, 'sure indeed. you should.
i'm on the database, it's a great place to be'
'do you have paper and a pen. i haven't got any on me,' he said.
i rolled my eyes
but i wrote my name, and my email
then thought, 'perhaps my number too'

fancies are cheap, they amuse me too
let's play the game, you know the rules
- let's see what we get.