No reason.

Two times in a row braving through the horrendous traffic for no reason.

Yesterday, I went to gym at 8am only to discover it did not open until 10am. So, I drove back and walked to the market instead as exercise. I didn’t even sweat.

This morning I drove to college to discover that it’s Orientation Day. I did not need orientating.

I might work at Matta Fair dolling up as a pseudo Thai. That calls for some dieting. Apparently, the costume is pretty revealing.

I think I might just be a little too caught up with relationship issues. I almost feel like a lame sheep. It’s time to spend more time with myself.

A subtle, albeit cruel punishment.

No dimension. No implication. No impression. No sound. This is the waiting game. In my opinion, a wicked form of abuse to be inflicted on another human being.

Prisoners are made to wait. Patients recuperating are made to wait. So are kins of tragedy victims. And lovers.

Waiting is omnipresent. The chain must be broken. We must not make another waits. We must be responsible and reliable.

Call me, fucker.

Counting blessings.

The sheer comfort of having a kindred spirit. Someone who shares your ideals, thoughts, likings, dislikes and yet, unique in everyway.

It is amazing how we mesh together. We certainly do not embarass one another (okay, maybe sometimes after the booze) and in spite of the crude name calling, our mutual respect is indisputable. I love you babe, you’re my best friend forever and ever.

I have a propensity to gain weight at the wrong places. My major peeves are the herculean extensions of my body I call arms. No matter how much weight I lose, my arms will forever trick eyes into believing that I’m chubby. Weight trainning, rowing, pilates, slimming cream; you name it, I’ve done it. It’s fucking genetics, nuf’ said. Arrgh…the pity!

Second major peeves are my breasts and derrriere. In this case, they don’t grow. They just don’t. From the side, I look like a lamp post, albeit a thick one. Unless on days when I OD-ed on pork knuckles, visible to the eyes would be a relatively large pouch attached to my midriff.

Okay, I’ve vented. I’m fine. I hate my body but it’s my body. I’m glad I wasn’t born a potato.

Once, I had such an intense backpain for almost a month that I thought I wouldn’t walk. That was one emotional roller coaster.

Once, I fractured my wrist and I thought it won’t be normal anymore. Nerve racking.

Once, a jealous slow mutherfucker tripped me while we were racing to a checkpoint in a child’s game. My face went sliding a couple of metres down the cemented ground. I healed and thank goodness my young skin did not allow any obvious scar to show.

All these reminiscences are making me grateful.