Arbor Vitae

I sit stranded in a sea of 1000-thread count sheets. I finger the fabric curiously: brushed Egyptian cotton with a semi-matte finish.

I wonder: but who would appreciate the finer points of these things? In bed, are you not asleep? And if you are asleep, would you then dream of these $ 300 sheets and the feel of their tightly-woven threads against your skin?

I don’t know.

All I know is that my feet hurt because I’ve been on them for 9 hours straight and that It’s 11.40 at night and I’m still shopping.

My sister has been hunting up and down the aisles for the perfect pillow to lull her to sleep: high and firm, yet fluffy.

I, on the other hand, could not be damned to lend her a hand. Which is why I am sitting on this display bed, mussing the sheets and pulling askew the duck-down comforter that some luckless retail assistant will have to re-arrange at end-of-close today.

In the homewares section, I can hear the mindless static of a TV blaring. It’s Jamie Oliver, who in unmistakable, dulcet tones is extolling the virtues of marrying olive oil and basil.  

And suddenly, my head is spinning and a sense of deja vu clutches at me with a desperation that surprises even myself.

Sitting on a bed, listening to TV babble.

This used to mean home. But if this is home, then who is that other person in the background, the shadowy form, the one whom you never catch a glimpse of, except from the tail of your eye?

Then I remember: there is no other person. It’s just me now.

Happy Christmas everyone. I’ll do the best I can here, but here isn’t there, and a party of one isn’t much of a party at all.

My (internship) supervisor and schnauzer Charlotte-Adelaide (plus their lovely abode) made a splash in the news today!

I would blog more, but my placement and work (ugh, ugh, double ugh, if you only knew what kind of shenanigans my manager and regional manager had been up to, you’d understand) are sucking all energy out of me.

These days, inertia is all I can manage - inertia and manning the remote for the TV  =P

ps: More updates coming as soon as I am able - the b**** of a week commonly known as seven days of frenzied-Christmas-shopping-cum-shop-assistant-abusing is upon us. Guess who’s clocking in 40+ hours this week plus two full days of intern-ing?  =(

There are some questions which I have no answers for.

Like: abnormal turns of phrases that surface oh-so-unexpectedly in a sea of banal how-have-you-beens and updates of your week and the whys and wherefores and vagaries of your job.

The only thing I am certain of is that I have broken my record for the inclusions of expressions such as shite and WTFs in MSN conversations with my friends when discussing this.

Shite.

*sigh*

Though nothing can bring back the hour,

Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;

We will grieve not, rather find,

Strength in what remains behind…

(William Wordsworth, Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood, 1807)

I close one door behind me, and open another tentatively.

I am so scared of letting everyone down, most of all myself.

Don’t screw up. Don’t screw up. Don’t screw up. Don’t screw up. Don’t screw up. Don’t screw up. Don’t screw up. Don’t screw up. Don’t screw up. Don’t screw up. Don’t screw up. Don’t screw up.

(Michelle Cheang, Prelude to Placement, 2006)

It’s interesting the things that crop up during late-night (early dawn?) MSN chats.

You know, things like avalanches and silent observers and invisible shoulders-to-cry-on and feelings that people keep stashed under their beds for years at a time.

I figured that since I couldn’t sleep, I might as well blog.

Need to sleep. Sleep is good. Can’t get to sleep. Why?

Need to sleep. Need to work tomorrow. Cannot go to work looking like the living dead.

Crap.