Nick is a dog owner. He owns a large, hairy dog. And this is the first time in my adult life that I have had the chance to closely study the behaviour pattern of dogs. Yesterday I had the opportunity to take Nick's dog for an hour's walk, and discovered that dogs are very, very different to cats. Very different.
Cats always go to the toilet in the same place, and bury their shit, piss, whatever, in kitty-gritty. The owner (e.g. me) merely has to get a pooper-scooper, remove the deeds, and throw it away. One can clean up kitty-shitty on auto-pilot, or totally hung over, coz they always shit in the same place. Dogs on the other hand shit whenever and wherever they feel like taking a dump; whether it is on the pavement, on someone's front garden, or even in front of a restaurant. If a dog wants to crap itself, it will. The owner therefore has to walk around with a bag of shit while the dog happily continues on its search for another location to take a dump.
Cats have an acute sense of smell. They use their olifactory senses to make sure that they do not eat rotten food, or to go anywhere near smelly things like fecal matters of other species. Dogs too have an acute sense of smell, however, they use this hightened sense to search out smelly items, like other dogs' shit, or dead cats, and get a really GOOD whiff of it. They sometimes even rub their body parts in smelly things so they can take the stench back to their homes.
Cats do not like to get their fur dirty or wet. They spend a good part of their waking day grooming and cleaning their coat. This is true for both indoor and outdoor cats, but in particular indoor cats are very fastidious about maintaining the condition of their fur. Cat owners of course can assist their feline friends and brush them, but in general cats can take care of themselves. Dogs on the other hand (if they could) would make the most out of their days trying to get their coats as filthy as possible. The wetter and the muddier the better. It is almost as if dogs wear wet mud on their fur as we women wear make-up on our faces. Muddy Dog = effort at looking attrative to the opposite sex. However, just like with some women, make up, or no make up, a dog is still a dog.
Cats require vertical exercise and therefore their linear territory on a map is usually small. Castrated male cats in general hang around a territory no bigger than 400m in diameter, and of course a feline "stud" will have his harem within approximately 2km sq. Cats are often seen on people's car bonnets, walls, even on roof tops, which is a very sweet site. Yesterday I was soooooo happy to find out that dogs do not exhibit these feline traits, and that they require *horizontal* exercise , i.e. dogs stay on the ground. I would have been at a complete loss if Nick's big, hairy dog started to climb onto people's homes; that dog would surely put a hole in someone's roof, and I know it would have been a peculiar site had the dog decided to take a dump right there and then.
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
So Where The F@K Am I?
Ok, so three days ago I got on a plane from Tokyo's Narita airport which took me 15hours back in time. I decided to take this bold step in time travel to see someone special who has been in my life for a while, but has always been half a day behind me. We used to leave each other messages online, or in the form of email, so that when the sun knocks on our bedroom windows we can see the shadows, the imprints, left behind from a different time and a different place.
Time travel? Shadows and imprints from a different time and space? WTF, DWR?! It sounds like a bad script for a B-grade science fiction/love story (i.e. total feckin' madness), but I kid you not. Nick lives in Wisconsin, and I live in Tokyo. That is the story, and this is where I have been for the past 2 or 3 days. (Can't seem to work out what time I am living in.)
Ok, so now that I have travelled 15hours back in time do I look and feel younger? No... In fact I am still combating not only the ugly hives that manifested itself after eating dodgy seafood, but also:
Thankfully, Nick does not seem too bothered, or in the least bit concerned, about the above symptoms so that is one salvation. (Who is Nick? If you don't know? Here, read this.) My other consolation is that I made an extra looooooong booking at Boudoir BEFORE I came to the shores of Lake Michigan, and did some serious body maintenance. Luckily I am realatively youthful not to warrant major roadworks done on my body, but there were a few potholes that had to be fixed and "grass cutting" at the day spa. Nothing major, but enuf to keep the list to a minimum for now.
Phew!
(Post script: I am not particularly looking forward to travelling 15hours into the future again in a month's time -- reason? I'll age once more, which means that I will have *additional* items to add to my "fight aging" list, and I will have to resort to leaving little time capsules for Nick like I used to...)
Time travel? Shadows and imprints from a different time and space? WTF, DWR?! It sounds like a bad script for a B-grade science fiction/love story (i.e. total feckin' madness), but I kid you not. Nick lives in Wisconsin, and I live in Tokyo. That is the story, and this is where I have been for the past 2 or 3 days. (Can't seem to work out what time I am living in.)
Ok, so now that I have travelled 15hours back in time do I look and feel younger? No... In fact I am still combating not only the ugly hives that manifested itself after eating dodgy seafood, but also:
- Dry skin caused by the excessive tanning in Thailand and the freezedry conditions of the 12 hour flight on the 747 (oh yes, I know, it takes 12hours to travel 15hours back in time -- go figure! Who came up with the concept of time?!)
- Tight hamstrings caused by being carted in the foetal position for half a day on "No-I-Don't-Know-Where-Your-Baggage-Is-But-It's-Somewhere-In-The-Western-Hemisphere" Airlines (and why do I need flexible hamstrings? go work it out for yourself!)
- Jet lag, or some other form of sleeping disorder that is biting heavily into my month's worth of benzodiazepine supply (not a good sign coz I need my jellies.)
- Dry eyes -- dunno the cause, but it could be something to do with the horse tranqs that I am using to combat #3 (kiddin' -- not using horse tranqs, yet, but if this sleeping disorder does not fix itself I am going to have to turn to my old friend, rhohipnol which is bad news coz he's bad company, and would probably make me lose ANOTHER 15 hours and I'll end up in Ulanbatur, or something. And that would not be good coz I came all the way out to Wisconsin, not somewhere along the silk road.)
Thankfully, Nick does not seem too bothered, or in the least bit concerned, about the above symptoms so that is one salvation. (Who is Nick? If you don't know? Here, read this.) My other consolation is that I made an extra looooooong booking at Boudoir BEFORE I came to the shores of Lake Michigan, and did some serious body maintenance. Luckily I am realatively youthful not to warrant major roadworks done on my body, but there were a few potholes that had to be fixed and "grass cutting" at the day spa. Nothing major, but enuf to keep the list to a minimum for now.
Phew!
(Post script: I am not particularly looking forward to travelling 15hours into the future again in a month's time -- reason? I'll age once more, which means that I will have *additional* items to add to my "fight aging" list, and I will have to resort to leaving little time capsules for Nick like I used to...)
Monday, March 21, 2005
A Little Journey?!
Why is it that everytime that I travel somewhere I encounter a semi-drama. It is not as if these incidents that I write about (like the time the Japanese drunken businessman collapsed in front me at HK airport) are all part of my expansive imagination; these things really happen all the time to me and I don't know why.
(Maybe it's because I am always fashionably late, but that should not be the only factor as to why things happen to my on my journeys)
Take for instance my most memorable, and possibly most disturbing incidence that happened to me while I was travelling through Europe on a train with my then boyfriend. We were travelling on the cheap with our inter-rail pass, and just like any poor student in order to cut our accomodation fees for our journey we would always take the night train (second class carriage where everyone scrambles for a cubicle and locks themselves in, even if the ticket collector asks for your tickets) to our next destination. We had travelled from Sweden through Denmark and onto Berlin in as many days. A day is enough in all these places, for it was not the first time that I had visited these places, plus even in the summer the weather was not warm enough.
Back in 1993 not long after the Berlin wall came down and the before the first Balkan conflict between the Croats and the Serbs, many of us were attracted to visit extotic Eastern European cities like Prague, Dubrovnik, Mostar, and Budapest. Our first port of call on the night train from Berlin was to Prague; now in those days anyone travelling on a non "European" passport required a visa, and a lot of bribery to get into, none of which I, nor the three Australian travel companions that we had met in Coppenhagen, had with us at the time. At around 2am as we approached the Eastern German border town of Dresden there came into our carriage three uniform clad relics from the communist past.
Yup, they were the boarder patrol. And yes, we got kicked off the train because we didn't have the right documents, enough German Marks, or Polish vodka to pursuade these manequin like officials who didn't seem to understand the universal language of "you scratch my back, and I will give you a huge kick-back".
The cold floors of Dresden station at 2am even on a summer night is not the most friendliest place on the planet. The five of us huddled together, smoked all our dutyfree Samson's Blue pouch, and looked at the train timetables to get us out of this hell hole as soon as possible. Dresden was a city of culture, a city with many gothic architecture, a city of beautiful museums and galleries, a city of cutting edge industry back in 1945 just before the allies had blitzed the place to rubble, and not a single piece of renovation had happened in since the end of WWII. This was not a nice place to stay overnight especially for a group of five people who spoke little, or no German, and had no money.
It was also not a good place for prostitutes to do their business.
In the 4hours that we spent on the hard stone floors we saw 3 prostitutes who were soliciting potential clients that were "pulled over" and taken to a special room where the station guards beat them up, took their belongings (including their shoes), and possibly sexually assaulted them. I met one of the girls in the toilets crying, tending to her black eye after she had been released from the "Polizeistation" with her money, her bag and her shoes confiscated. In my limited German I could make out that she had some trouble sitting down, and that she had to walk home with no shoes; I had enough sandles and shoes on me so I gave her my raggedy Espidrills that didn't fit her too well, but I will never forget the sunken look in her blackened eyes that said: Thank you for your kindness, and you want to get the fuck out of here as soon as possible. Otherwise they will take your passport and your money.
That night we had too much tabacco and not enough booze, but we still managed to take the first train out of Dresden which took us to Genoa, Italy without being assulted, or having our possessions taken from us.
(Maybe it's because I am always fashionably late, but that should not be the only factor as to why things happen to my on my journeys)
Take for instance my most memorable, and possibly most disturbing incidence that happened to me while I was travelling through Europe on a train with my then boyfriend. We were travelling on the cheap with our inter-rail pass, and just like any poor student in order to cut our accomodation fees for our journey we would always take the night train (second class carriage where everyone scrambles for a cubicle and locks themselves in, even if the ticket collector asks for your tickets) to our next destination. We had travelled from Sweden through Denmark and onto Berlin in as many days. A day is enough in all these places, for it was not the first time that I had visited these places, plus even in the summer the weather was not warm enough.
Back in 1993 not long after the Berlin wall came down and the before the first Balkan conflict between the Croats and the Serbs, many of us were attracted to visit extotic Eastern European cities like Prague, Dubrovnik, Mostar, and Budapest. Our first port of call on the night train from Berlin was to Prague; now in those days anyone travelling on a non "European" passport required a visa, and a lot of bribery to get into, none of which I, nor the three Australian travel companions that we had met in Coppenhagen, had with us at the time. At around 2am as we approached the Eastern German border town of Dresden there came into our carriage three uniform clad relics from the communist past.
Yup, they were the boarder patrol. And yes, we got kicked off the train because we didn't have the right documents, enough German Marks, or Polish vodka to pursuade these manequin like officials who didn't seem to understand the universal language of "you scratch my back, and I will give you a huge kick-back".
The cold floors of Dresden station at 2am even on a summer night is not the most friendliest place on the planet. The five of us huddled together, smoked all our dutyfree Samson's Blue pouch, and looked at the train timetables to get us out of this hell hole as soon as possible. Dresden was a city of culture, a city with many gothic architecture, a city of beautiful museums and galleries, a city of cutting edge industry back in 1945 just before the allies had blitzed the place to rubble, and not a single piece of renovation had happened in since the end of WWII. This was not a nice place to stay overnight especially for a group of five people who spoke little, or no German, and had no money.
It was also not a good place for prostitutes to do their business.
In the 4hours that we spent on the hard stone floors we saw 3 prostitutes who were soliciting potential clients that were "pulled over" and taken to a special room where the station guards beat them up, took their belongings (including their shoes), and possibly sexually assaulted them. I met one of the girls in the toilets crying, tending to her black eye after she had been released from the "Polizeistation" with her money, her bag and her shoes confiscated. In my limited German I could make out that she had some trouble sitting down, and that she had to walk home with no shoes; I had enough sandles and shoes on me so I gave her my raggedy Espidrills that didn't fit her too well, but I will never forget the sunken look in her blackened eyes that said: Thank you for your kindness, and you want to get the fuck out of here as soon as possible. Otherwise they will take your passport and your money.
That night we had too much tabacco and not enough booze, but we still managed to take the first train out of Dresden which took us to Genoa, Italy without being assulted, or having our possessions taken from us.
*************
Today I can live to tell the tale and call it the worst journey so far in my life; however my trip to the land "12hours away" to see Nick was not exactly uneventful either. A certain airline carrier (which I shall not name, but starts with North and ends with West) managed to lose my luggage during the transfer at Mineannapolis. Even Dresden's rigid boarder gards managed to keep all confiscated inventory in check, but not these airlines... no. I bet you anything that the Dresden guards had properly barcoded and sorted all the belongings that they took from the prostitutes, and even took physical inventory on a daily basis. Perhaps the "No-Way-Am-I-Competent" Airlines should learn a thing or two about keeping tabs of one's luggage, and the guards at Dresden should learn to smile and take a few bullshit from unsatisfied customers.
The Last Supper With The DWFs
Sometimes you need friends to keep you in check, to make sure that you are making the right choices, or eating the right foods. I have DWFs, Y and A, who do just that. Two nights ago I had my official "Last Supper" with the DWFs as colleagues, for I will no longer be working for the same Pink Elephant as them. We sat together drinking distilled alcohol (or something), singing silly Japanese love songs, and discussing my new job and my 12hr trip to see Nick.
They wished me well, and left me the bill, but here's to my DWFs -- now that I could potentially be your client, you better start learning how to kiss my boots and brown-nose me arse. Oh, and don't even think about expensing all our drunken sessions onto my corporate card, coz I will be up shit creek with my new boss. You guyz can go and talk to that crazy boss of yours to write it off on the business unit; I know the drill so don't even bother cheating me, babes.
Nah, honestly, Y and A, cheers for all your support, I am doing well here. I am not chopped up, nor am I sold off as slave labour, yet (unlike you.) Love ya both, and see you when I get back!!
(Post script: I'll come clean, I voluntarily (happily) picked up the bill that night, not that my DWFs ran off and left me with the bill. I was more than happy to treat them. On a different note I think there was something funny with the food that night, coz Y now also has hives like me... Or maybe there was not enuf alcohol consumed to disinfect the allergens, whatever they were.)
They wished me well, and left me the bill, but here's to my DWFs -- now that I could potentially be your client, you better start learning how to kiss my boots and brown-nose me arse. Oh, and don't even think about expensing all our drunken sessions onto my corporate card, coz I will be up shit creek with my new boss. You guyz can go and talk to that crazy boss of yours to write it off on the business unit; I know the drill so don't even bother cheating me, babes.
Nah, honestly, Y and A, cheers for all your support, I am doing well here. I am not chopped up, nor am I sold off as slave labour, yet (unlike you.) Love ya both, and see you when I get back!!
(Post script: I'll come clean, I voluntarily (happily) picked up the bill that night, not that my DWFs ran off and left me with the bill. I was more than happy to treat them. On a different note I think there was something funny with the food that night, coz Y now also has hives like me... Or maybe there was not enuf alcohol consumed to disinfect the allergens, whatever they were.)
Friday, March 18, 2005
Hives
Fuck!!! I cannot believe this! I started to pack for my holiday/break to see Nick tomorrow, and I noticed that my back was slightly itchy. There is also a slight itch near my belly button and also the insides of my arms -- all places with sensitive skin...
I am covered in fucking HIVES!!!!! It must be that fucking mackrel sashimi that I had for dinner -- there I am packing my skimpiest, sexiest underwear and my body is covered in some disease looking red rash. If those anti-histamines do not work by tomorrow morning, I am fuckt coz I have a 12 hour flight to endure, and no one is going to want to hug a woman who just came back from a holiday in Thailand, where they have had cases of birdflu, covered in red blotches.
I am doomed. Doomed, doomed, doomed... I hope the hives disappear soon.
I am covered in fucking HIVES!!!!! It must be that fucking mackrel sashimi that I had for dinner -- there I am packing my skimpiest, sexiest underwear and my body is covered in some disease looking red rash. If those anti-histamines do not work by tomorrow morning, I am fuckt coz I have a 12 hour flight to endure, and no one is going to want to hug a woman who just came back from a holiday in Thailand, where they have had cases of birdflu, covered in red blotches.
I am doomed. Doomed, doomed, doomed... I hope the hives disappear soon.
Making That Leap
I discovered the other day that I can no longer be a blood doner in Japan because I spent more than ONE DAY in either Britain, or France, in between 1987 to 1999. And why am I, a universal donor (almost), not allowed to help people who need some fresh blood? Because the risk that the recepient may contract the new varient of CJD, often linked to consumption of BSE (aka. Mad Cow Disease) afflicted animals. It doesn't matter that I was a vegitarian at that time, nor the fact that I am lactose intolerant, I am simply not allowed to donate blood "just in case. The risk is too high..."
Well today I would like to point out to both the Ministry of Wealth Thru Slave Labour, and Cuts in Healthcare, and the Ministry of "Everything is Foreign to Me" Affairs that tomorrow I am taking the biggest risk I have taken in my entire life, and whatever the outcome I am going to hack into your site and post a huge message saying:"I Did It My Way!"
Let me take a few steps back -- maybe a couple of months -- to tell you my story. I met someone online; this online meeting was not your average online dating where you put profiles up of yourself, pictures, hobbies, likes, dislikes, "looking for a longterm relationship. Email with photos pls." This was even stranger because I was approached by someone who liked my Blog. He had never met me, and yet he was drawn to someone who had openly admitted that they were bulimic, that they have feelings of wanting to fall in love, that they get angry about human rights abuses, that they were just writing because they liked to write.
It is not everyday that you meet a person who sees your heart before your face; in most cases whether you meet someone at a bar, at a booksigning event, or even at a friend's party the first piece of information that you have about another person is what they look like, not how they view life. All my ex's have been the former type -- I know what they look like, then I find out what makes them laugh.
Imagine being blind, and the only information that you have of another person is how they sound, what they are saying, how they smell, and how smooth their skin is; I have even less than that. For the past 2 months I have had romantic feelings about a man who lives 12hours away; we are like the sun and the moon, when I am up, he is asleep, and when he wakes, I am tucked away in bed. What little time we have we spend chatting with our webcams, and that is pretty much it; but this is the last day that I will be resorting to playing catch up, for I will board a plane tomorrow afternoon to see this person who has been part of my life for the past 2 months. Tomorrow I am making that leap....
Today there is a shortage of blood in Japan. My blood type, O positive, makes me pretty much a universal doner. I usually give blood once every 6 months, because I know that somewhere someone needs blood, my blood, to survive. The risk of me, an ex-vegitarian, being a nCJD carrier is slight; why don't they make that leap to find out if I can continue to donate blood, just as I am making that great leap to travel to see the man in my dreams.
Sometimes you have to face fear and believe in yourself to make changes to your life.
Well today I would like to point out to both the Ministry of Wealth Thru Slave Labour, and Cuts in Healthcare, and the Ministry of "Everything is Foreign to Me" Affairs that tomorrow I am taking the biggest risk I have taken in my entire life, and whatever the outcome I am going to hack into your site and post a huge message saying:"I Did It My Way!"
Let me take a few steps back -- maybe a couple of months -- to tell you my story. I met someone online; this online meeting was not your average online dating where you put profiles up of yourself, pictures, hobbies, likes, dislikes, "looking for a longterm relationship. Email with photos pls." This was even stranger because I was approached by someone who liked my Blog. He had never met me, and yet he was drawn to someone who had openly admitted that they were bulimic, that they have feelings of wanting to fall in love, that they get angry about human rights abuses, that they were just writing because they liked to write.
It is not everyday that you meet a person who sees your heart before your face; in most cases whether you meet someone at a bar, at a booksigning event, or even at a friend's party the first piece of information that you have about another person is what they look like, not how they view life. All my ex's have been the former type -- I know what they look like, then I find out what makes them laugh.
Imagine being blind, and the only information that you have of another person is how they sound, what they are saying, how they smell, and how smooth their skin is; I have even less than that. For the past 2 months I have had romantic feelings about a man who lives 12hours away; we are like the sun and the moon, when I am up, he is asleep, and when he wakes, I am tucked away in bed. What little time we have we spend chatting with our webcams, and that is pretty much it; but this is the last day that I will be resorting to playing catch up, for I will board a plane tomorrow afternoon to see this person who has been part of my life for the past 2 months. Tomorrow I am making that leap....
Today there is a shortage of blood in Japan. My blood type, O positive, makes me pretty much a universal doner. I usually give blood once every 6 months, because I know that somewhere someone needs blood, my blood, to survive. The risk of me, an ex-vegitarian, being a nCJD carrier is slight; why don't they make that leap to find out if I can continue to donate blood, just as I am making that great leap to travel to see the man in my dreams.
Sometimes you have to face fear and believe in yourself to make changes to your life.
Thursday, March 17, 2005
Ecowarriors In A Suit
As an ardent tree-hugger in a suit and with a penchant for fuck-off infrastructure, I have always admired organised liberal ecowarriors who make SENSE. I was just doing some research when I came upon this site:
Yup, I'm a softy in someways but I like to find a place to vent out on anything from food processing to Microsoft products. I think that I have found the next Onion and the Viz for my resources and outlets. (Ok, the Viz is just sooo unserious/sarcastic/ironic that I should not even consider it, but nonetheless up there as one of my favourite comics along with Lobo.)
Let's see if I can dig up a few articles and "FRAAGGG 'em" as dear Lobo would say; may his soul rest in peace.
Yup, I'm a softy in someways but I like to find a place to vent out on anything from food processing to Microsoft products. I think that I have found the next Onion and the Viz for my resources and outlets. (Ok, the Viz is just sooo unserious/sarcastic/ironic that I should not even consider it, but nonetheless up there as one of my favourite comics along with Lobo.)
Let's see if I can dig up a few articles and "FRAAGGG 'em" as dear Lobo would say; may his soul rest in peace.
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
Memories
I am always fascinated by the concept of human memory, both conscious and subconsious. I am blessed/cursed with a good memory for totally irrelevant detail to most. The simple reason that I remember things is that I associate either a thought or an emotion to something that "sicks" to my mind. For instance there is a brand of shampoo that I cannot bear to use simply because it is associated with a very painful breakup with one of my first "loves". I will never forget the time I was in tears, after my breakup, washing my hair with a specific brand of shampoo thinking "why? why did he break up with me? what did I do wrong?". Nearly 17 years on, I cannot even look at that bottle of shampoo (I'll give you a hint, it's distributed by P&G)
I also conversly have good memories that I come back to all the time: music. Even after I break up with a man, or is in love with a bloke I will listen to the same song frequently to resurrect the good memories of holding hands in the park, kissing in the cinema just before the film starts, singing to a tune when we are both doing the washing up. Yes there may be some negative memories that will return, just like the shampoo, but there are times when I listen to old CDs, sing along to it, and remember his tender touch.
Right now I am listening to a song that I have a memory for someone I have not met. The lyrics remind me of the situation that we are in right now, for we are apart. It is by a group called Blue Six, and it has already made memories that have not been actualised simply because we live on different continents, in different timezones:
I also conversly have good memories that I come back to all the time: music. Even after I break up with a man, or is in love with a bloke I will listen to the same song frequently to resurrect the good memories of holding hands in the park, kissing in the cinema just before the film starts, singing to a tune when we are both doing the washing up. Yes there may be some negative memories that will return, just like the shampoo, but there are times when I listen to old CDs, sing along to it, and remember his tender touch.
Right now I am listening to a song that I have a memory for someone I have not met. The lyrics remind me of the situation that we are in right now, for we are apart. It is by a group called Blue Six, and it has already made memories that have not been actualised simply because we live on different continents, in different timezones:
Five O'clock I don't know what to do, It's much too late to
call and it's soon to go and see you. If I arrived with a suitcase at your door, would you throw your arms around me, would we make love on the floorDifferent lives, we sleep in different beds, we sleep in differnt
countries while your voice plays in my head, If I tried to be smarter than before, would you tell me that you missed me, would you love me even moreIt feels right, won't you remember me, It's alright, just
think of me and you're always close to home. Little lies. And feelings of regret from wounds that never heal, from memories I'd fled. Windy night and touble at the door, hiding in the quiet I remember where you are.
It feels right, won't you remember me on
cold nights, just think of me and you are always close to home
Think of me
I am not usually an emotional person, nor do I give my heart away to too many people. I have more FBs-- men who I sleep with on a regular basis (only one at a time tho') -- but do not give my heart out to FBs, for it is fear of losing my control of my emotions that makes me chose these types of relationships with men.
But this time it seems different. There is no pressure on my half coz if all goes wrong I can just hop on the next flight to wherever and visit friends, go trekking, go diving; mentally there is no obligation to stay with this one man that I chose to stay with for a month...
But these lyrics haunt me everyday and the more I think about it I know I will regret it if I put in a half arse effort and do not put my heart on the line. My heart has been broken many times, once more is not going to kill me, but what will kill me is my regret for not going for it, for he has opened his heart to me. This is something that I value more than all the Sonnets in the world. I have lead a life of celibracy and self-induced isolation for more than 2 years in the fear that I will lose me, my integrety, and my persona. But can one live on their own with their cats/dogs for the rest of their lives? Can I go without creating more memories, either good or bad, till the day that I die?
Do I want my last breath on this planet to be filled with regrets of the memories that I have not made? Good or bad? Will I be able to leave my existance knowing that I could have done something about it and changed the course of my life?
I want to make mistakes -- all the mistakes that I can. I want to fall in love with the wrong person, I want to escape on the most mind altering drugs possible, I want to have a holiday home where I can lounge around and not think about anything, I want to have sex with a woman just to see what it is like to fall in love with a woman, I want to go bunjee jumping knowing that there is a risk of dying in the process, I want to travel the silk road on a stubborn donkey that won't listen to my directions, I want to visit the MachuPichu and get altitutde sickness, I want to climb Everest and clear up all the rubbish that people left up there, I want to go to Mysore to be taught Yoga by Patabi Joyce, I want to go diving in the great barrier reef, I want to go and see the Komodo Dragons, I want to sail across the globe on a little raft with only a fishing line and dried lemon, I want to see the great wall of china from space, but most of all I want to wake up next to Nick on a sunday morning to stroke his hair and say, "Good morning, hun, would you like some coffee" only to turn around and make love to him...
I want to make these happy memories, not the smelly shampoo that I will never touch.
How many shampoos, like me, do you have no courage to touch?
Saturday, March 12, 2005
Facials, Writers' Block, And A Piece Of Paper
Today I went to Boudoir for a facial and for some "maintenance" which I have been doing on a monthly basis for the past 7 years. After my treatment I had some galettes at Le Bretagne, in Omotesando, and had my combination of pancakes and camomile tea al fresco. I think that today was the first time in ages that I had some time to myself to think about the many things that have been happening in my life. As some of you know, I handed my resignation in to the Pink Elephant the day before my 10day holiday in Thailand. I will be taking up a new post with the Baby Extract manufacturers from the middle of April, which gives me nearly one month of no work/freedom.
So why I am not rejoicing and writing every day? Why am I stuck each day in front of the PC writing drafts after drafts of empty words?
Why?
The reason, I suppose stems from a very important path that I have decided to take in my life. All is emcompassed in a piece of paper that puts me on board a 12hr flight to meet someone special in my life. As the day draws near my mind is full of excitement and also of some fear... and I cannot concentrate on anything right now. I have much to write, and even more to research, and yet I look at my passport and my flight voucher every day and imagine what it would be to be on that flight on the 19th, to meet someone that has become so much a part of my life that I cannot even sit down with my own thoughts. With my galettes and my camomile tea in peace.
I suppose the other party also feels the same way too, and I know that he will read this post and will agree with me that the source of my drought may due to me thinking too much of him. But is there such thing as thinking too much of a person one cares about? If there is, I am guilty of that crime; but I have my moments to myself where I can reflect upon many things that I see and feel. My inner thoughts will never betray me, I guess, even though I have moments of distraction once in a while.
So why I am not rejoicing and writing every day? Why am I stuck each day in front of the PC writing drafts after drafts of empty words?
Why?
The reason, I suppose stems from a very important path that I have decided to take in my life. All is emcompassed in a piece of paper that puts me on board a 12hr flight to meet someone special in my life. As the day draws near my mind is full of excitement and also of some fear... and I cannot concentrate on anything right now. I have much to write, and even more to research, and yet I look at my passport and my flight voucher every day and imagine what it would be to be on that flight on the 19th, to meet someone that has become so much a part of my life that I cannot even sit down with my own thoughts. With my galettes and my camomile tea in peace.
I suppose the other party also feels the same way too, and I know that he will read this post and will agree with me that the source of my drought may due to me thinking too much of him. But is there such thing as thinking too much of a person one cares about? If there is, I am guilty of that crime; but I have my moments to myself where I can reflect upon many things that I see and feel. My inner thoughts will never betray me, I guess, even though I have moments of distraction once in a while.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
Out Of Blogg Reply Do Not Disturb -- Yet... I have an RFI For Serious Readers
It has now been over a week since I came back from my holiday in Thailand, but my mind is still in holiday mode. WTF?! I am quitting my job, and now I find out that my big-boss is also leaving the company so no one is doing anything much in the office this month. Does that give me an excuse to be unmotivated? Hell yeah! If someone told you, "listen, I want you to sit in the office for the next 2 or 3 weeks, min. 30mins/day in the office, and we will make sure we pay you your full pay cheque" would you put in more than 31 hours per day? And how productive do you think you would be?
Today I was helping out a colleague who was consulting a company that makes crisps/potato chips. The fellow consultant was unsure about how they managed to pack crisps without it breaking up during transport. Surely they must be crushed, and who checks the quality, DWR??
A: Nitrogen Flushing
These words I use casually coz I know that in any bag of crisps/chips there is either a combination of only nitrogen and/or CO2 to eliminate oxidation of the contents. But how? How do the food processing/packaging companies put only nitrogen in the bags? OK so it's probably fully automated, but from which process onwards, and who the fuck checks the quality of the out put i.e. are we sure it's only Nitrogen in there???
Many questions, but not enuf answers.... if anyone is familiar with the food preservative/packing process, please enlighten me before I lose anymore sleep!
With great appreciation, DWR
Today I was helping out a colleague who was consulting a company that makes crisps/potato chips. The fellow consultant was unsure about how they managed to pack crisps without it breaking up during transport. Surely they must be crushed, and who checks the quality, DWR??
A: Nitrogen Flushing
These words I use casually coz I know that in any bag of crisps/chips there is either a combination of only nitrogen and/or CO2 to eliminate oxidation of the contents. But how? How do the food processing/packaging companies put only nitrogen in the bags? OK so it's probably fully automated, but from which process onwards, and who the fuck checks the quality of the out put i.e. are we sure it's only Nitrogen in there???
Many questions, but not enuf answers.... if anyone is familiar with the food preservative/packing process, please enlighten me before I lose anymore sleep!
With great appreciation, DWR
Friday, March 04, 2005
Turning Back The Clocks...
I am back from my holidays now. I am missing all the posts and photos from Day 5 to Day 11 of my holiday: Leave Me Alone I am On Vacation. It is now 3am, and I am only 14% finished with the sorting of my holiday pics.
I have been to paradise only to come back to hell and stress. Do I wind myself up over irrelevant shite?? Probably... probably.
On a different note, I am reading Paulo Coelho's The Devil And Miss Prym right now. Many of the die hard Coelho fans gave it a poor review, but I am going to finish it before I make my own mind up about it. I like his concept of working on the idea of good and evil in man, and to explore the workings of the human mind in the realm of temptation.
If you were approached by darkness and offered something that you have been longing for, would you take it knowing that it may be evil? Or would you chose good over anything else? Or worse still, let fate make your choices and do nothing about it?
These are tough questions that I have no answers for... I wonder if Paulo Coelho has one.
I doubt it...
I have been to paradise only to come back to hell and stress. Do I wind myself up over irrelevant shite?? Probably... probably.
On a different note, I am reading Paulo Coelho's The Devil And Miss Prym right now. Many of the die hard Coelho fans gave it a poor review, but I am going to finish it before I make my own mind up about it. I like his concept of working on the idea of good and evil in man, and to explore the workings of the human mind in the realm of temptation.
If you were approached by darkness and offered something that you have been longing for, would you take it knowing that it may be evil? Or would you chose good over anything else? Or worse still, let fate make your choices and do nothing about it?
These are tough questions that I have no answers for... I wonder if Paulo Coelho has one.
I doubt it...
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