Why do I feel so topsy-turvy?
Is it because you’re there and I’m here?
Where the seasons move in opposition and the days pass, discordant to each other?
But it is less discordant than you and I: for the simple fact that you do not know when, or if, I draw breath.
If we’re at opposite ends of the earth, then why doesn’t this go away?
Because I’m deluded.
And because it’s my nature to be conflicted.
You turned to me in the middle of that boring lecture, just like I knew you would.
You’d noticed my inept fumbling and the crude concealment of my mobile under the desk.
So you raise one eyebrow, mockly sardonic.
But it’s not what you think it is. It’s not who you think.
So the answer to your question remains: No I’m not.
15 hours
4 absurdly hot showers
3 mugs of insipid Boh 3-in-1 Teh Tarik mix
1 completed assignment
1/2 dead or alive moi
Mix. Shake. Rinse and repeat.
This is going to be my life until Week 13 guys. It’s only Week 7 and I’ve had enough.
…on the Steve Irwin tragedy
http://kyspeaks.com/2006/09/07/ky-eats-stingray-ikan-bakar-at-chow-yang-ss2/
Whether you thought he was an ocker, in-your-face bozo or a true wildlife warrior, it’s just not us who’ll miss him most - that would be the prerogative of wife Terri and kids Bindi and Bob.
Peace and blogs out.
Have you been seeing someone else?
No.
Why do you keep saying no?
Because I’m not sure. And I don’t want to screw everything up.
Why do you think it has to screw up?
Because. I’m an eternal pessimist remember? The glass is always half empty, and what’s more, it’s probably full of crap and cigarette butts and whatnot.
You crack me up, really, you do.
Then let’s keep it that way.
Is it me?
No. It isn’t. Really.
Then…?
I know it sounds cliched. But it’s me. Truly.
Because you’ve been burned?
Yes. Third-degree burns to more than 70% of total body surface.
You’re doing it again.
What?
Cracking me up.
Oh. See, we wouldn’t be able to do this if we screwed it up, would we? OK, I’m chicken shit. Just so you know.
I think it wouldn’t be so bad if you tried.
Yeah, I know. But I’m chicken shit remember?
Sigh.
I’m sorry. But if this screws up, everyone will find out. Nothing travels faster than bad news and nothing’s worse news than a screwed-up pseudo-attempt at a relationship (or whatever else we’re trying to get off the ground here).
Oh God. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I mean I didn’t mean to go putting words in your mouth. About the last bit. The pseudo-attempt at whatever-you-want-to-call it.
I’ll remove my own foot from my own mouth now.
You’re doing it again.
Yeah, I know, I have a rampant case of foot-in-mouth disease. That’s another reason you should stay away.
No, the other thing.
Cracking you up? See we wouldn’t be able to do this if…
I know.
But this way, it won’t matter. I’ll still sit next to you and scribble tic-tac-toes all over your lecture notes when your attention levels plummet.
And you can still ask me how to spell ‘fatiguing’ even though English’s supposed to be your first language and not mine.
And you can still nudge me awake when I simply can’t keep my eyes open because I was up til 3am the night before, trying to get my act together for my play therapy session today.
But what if?
What if that wasn’t enough? Or wasn’t good enough? I’m sorry. I don’t know.
