Sunday, September 04, 2005
Wordless
"Something is broken..."
I wish I could fix it. I wish I had the super glue to repair you, kiddo. I wish I could just throw a suture, and put humpty dumpty back together again.
But I don't, and I can't.
For me, my blogrolling is broken.
*****
What do you do, when you've run out of words?
These past few days have been packed. Packed with distractors.
Play - 1000%
Study - 0.1%
It's been wonderful. I've been... as happy as I can be.
Yet I'm out of words; there is nothing left to say.
And sometimes when I'm alone in my head, surrounded by people... they notice it now. And say something about a despondent face when they think I'm not listening.
I think something...
... is broken.
*****
I will write about LMD though, the hustler.
Never played pool my eye. Some shark teaches her how to play pool, murmuring sweet nothings in her ear... she comes along, has us all fooled, and by the end of the night I'm pulling out all the stops to stop her from humiliating me... them backstrokes... them fancy slices off the side cushion... them hard shots into the middle pocket....
Ph-ew. Never played pool. Ya. Right.
Never trust a girl with a dog that looks like a log...
*****
Later now, when the words aren't quite back, but what the hell I want to write anyway so too bad, you just have to suffer me in a funny mood writing like a teenager...
Pleasant dinner company again, more talk, less dog this time, and a brief sojourn to a seedy club (always be on your guard when you hear the words : very nice, very nice!) and then pool, pool, pool.
I got home at four thirty last night, with just a wee bit of ethanol fuelling me engine.
And then it was off to mass as nine, as promised, with the S, student.
We watched the ex's father do his thing.
It was a strange experience. I didn't have flashbacks from the past or anything (those are at present reserved for some other female... and I just can't understand why blast it...) just hunkered down and kept my eyes down and hoped he wouldn't notice me... or the mom either...
He does have a good voice though.
*****
So, what's the craziest thing you've ever done?
Hers was jumping out a window.
It made me think of a long time ago when I watched some really important minister's son leap off the second floor balcony while being pursued through the halls of NUS by a bunch of crazed girls. (it was a game. A game.)
A heart-stopping moment later, I peered over the edge, and he was scrambling away, unscathed...
Hers was, ahem, flashing someone, to prove the beauty of her bra. Yes, quite.
His was... snogging a guy. Uh. ya. He writes about his penetrating episodes with women, and putting his (bleep) in her (unmentionable)... and the craziest thing he's ever done is kiss a guy, no tongue.
cough.
And hers was (yawn) skipping an exam paper.
Mine?
I thought maybe if I kept quiet, they'd forget...
Mine is lost in time... and only partially told.
The bear, in the box.
******
Frau Tan. Herr Chan. Herr Anwar.
It was so strange, hearing us speak the names.
And discovering the common... not-quite-indiscretion of signing up for free credits in first year uni.
Heh. Perhaps anyone would have done it... Perhaps we're all a little unscrupulous at heart. laugh.
"You speak german?
Ein bischen..."
Strange to hear the words... again. Spoken just a few days ago, to the medical student... roles reversed.
******
And then the flashback.
The flagstone paths, the sun beating down, the too-cold classrooms downstairs, the too-hot upstairs.
Standing in the shade waiting for the mother to pick him up.
Watching, hoping for a glimpse...
... and there She is, getting into Her father's Peugeot.
I wish I could fix it. I wish I had the super glue to repair you, kiddo. I wish I could just throw a suture, and put humpty dumpty back together again.
But I don't, and I can't.
For me, my blogrolling is broken.
*****
What do you do, when you've run out of words?
These past few days have been packed. Packed with distractors.
Play - 1000%
Study - 0.1%
It's been wonderful. I've been... as happy as I can be.
Yet I'm out of words; there is nothing left to say.
And sometimes when I'm alone in my head, surrounded by people... they notice it now. And say something about a despondent face when they think I'm not listening.
I think something...
... is broken.
*****
I will write about LMD though, the hustler.
Never played pool my eye. Some shark teaches her how to play pool, murmuring sweet nothings in her ear... she comes along, has us all fooled, and by the end of the night I'm pulling out all the stops to stop her from humiliating me... them backstrokes... them fancy slices off the side cushion... them hard shots into the middle pocket....
Ph-ew. Never played pool. Ya. Right.
Never trust a girl with a dog that looks like a log...
*****
Later now, when the words aren't quite back, but what the hell I want to write anyway so too bad, you just have to suffer me in a funny mood writing like a teenager...
Pleasant dinner company again, more talk, less dog this time, and a brief sojourn to a seedy club (always be on your guard when you hear the words : very nice, very nice!) and then pool, pool, pool.
I got home at four thirty last night, with just a wee bit of ethanol fuelling me engine.
And then it was off to mass as nine, as promised, with the S, student.
We watched the ex's father do his thing.
It was a strange experience. I didn't have flashbacks from the past or anything (those are at present reserved for some other female... and I just can't understand why blast it...) just hunkered down and kept my eyes down and hoped he wouldn't notice me... or the mom either...
He does have a good voice though.
*****
So, what's the craziest thing you've ever done?
Hers was jumping out a window.
It made me think of a long time ago when I watched some really important minister's son leap off the second floor balcony while being pursued through the halls of NUS by a bunch of crazed girls. (it was a game. A game.)
A heart-stopping moment later, I peered over the edge, and he was scrambling away, unscathed...
Hers was, ahem, flashing someone, to prove the beauty of her bra. Yes, quite.
His was... snogging a guy. Uh. ya. He writes about his penetrating episodes with women, and putting his (bleep) in her (unmentionable)... and the craziest thing he's ever done is kiss a guy, no tongue.
cough.
And hers was (yawn) skipping an exam paper.
Mine?
I thought maybe if I kept quiet, they'd forget...
Mine is lost in time... and only partially told.
The bear, in the box.
******
Frau Tan. Herr Chan. Herr Anwar.
It was so strange, hearing us speak the names.
And discovering the common... not-quite-indiscretion of signing up for free credits in first year uni.
Heh. Perhaps anyone would have done it... Perhaps we're all a little unscrupulous at heart. laugh.
"You speak german?
Ein bischen..."
Strange to hear the words... again. Spoken just a few days ago, to the medical student... roles reversed.
******
And then the flashback.
The flagstone paths, the sun beating down, the too-cold classrooms downstairs, the too-hot upstairs.
Standing in the shade waiting for the mother to pick him up.
Watching, hoping for a glimpse...
... and there She is, getting into Her father's Peugeot.
