Time Is Running Out



Lucky him. I, on the other hand, was running home. Quite the contrary to running out really.
It's not often I post about the happenings of my day, since most of the time there really isn't much to write about anyway. But this time, writing this post is some way of cooling down, and it beats pacing up and down my room or trying to perform various positions of yoga.

Today was not the best of days. Sleeping at two in the morning and waking up at six in the morning happens to have several strange effects on your mind and body, not too unlike that of heavy LSD overdosage. Nevertheless, I made a valiant attempt to survive my day on my winnowing sleep reserves. It's too bad that valiant attempts almost never work. This happened to take the form of a sixteen hour day. If you do the mathematical studies there, you realise that that's four times the amount of sleep I got. Being the ever-resourceful and ever-lethargic singaporean citizen that I was, I decided to take the opportunity to fall asleep in just about every corner I decided to relac in, as well as every bus that decided to grant me seating pastures. Call me antisocial, but it seemed to have worked. Here I am, online at twelve in the morning, writing some inane post. Ironically, I wouldn't BE writing this post if not for the fact that buses can get so damn comfortable when you get used to them.

So, on with the story. After much brainstorming of katrinic proportions, we decided that we really should let the unfortunate workers at Gelare go home. Then came the semi-elucidated mrt trip, and the trip-hop to the bus stop (hoho that rhymes) to grab my bus back, kanye telling me something about being harder, better, faster and stronger all this while. Could have been one of the reasons why I even made it to the bus stop without collapsing down the stairs. The bus was taking forever to come, and when it DID come, it decided to pass by and go do that thing all buses do when they don't stop at the freaking bus interchange, whatever that is. So then my bus does come! And by this time Justice is being served in copious amounts, remixes aplenty. All is looking and sounding good. Good enough for me to get comfortable and fall into some deep slumber only usually rendered possible by some shinylooking apple.

Usually there's this thing called the biological clock which saves your life and wakes you up when you need it. It woke me up pretty fine, just about three bus stops before my stop. Sadly, my biological clock caved in to a simple chemistry of physics, where the up-down motion of the bus soon led to a nett down movement of my eyelids and a converse up movement of audio levels in the snore department.

By the time I could figure out the science of what was happening, I was just about three bus stops away from my house. I jump up of my seat, jump out of the bus, and jump start my terry fox back home. It happens that the skies decide to mourn and cry over my sorry situation, and their tears of rain descend upon me as I make the first run of mine in a really, really long time. Wait. 'Why not take the bus?' you ask. Considering that I'd already spent just about three dollars on bus and mrt fare with a concession card for the day, I really didn't want to incur more weight loss on my already anorexic wallet. Inspired partially by the fact that I was getting severely wet, the fact that I wanted to get home as quick as possible so i get finally get some rest, as well as the fact that I was about to get royally floorwiped by my parents for getting back so late the fifteenth time in a row, I decided to run.

By the time I entered the dairy farm stretch, I realised that a subtle, serene scene lay before me. The street lights emitted soft pinkish-purple glows, which reflected delicately off the falling crystal droplets of water, and the overall effect brought to mind images of picturesque fantasy, a la Stardust (Which is a really great movie by the way). Nevertheless, it's hard to appreciate such things when you begin to feel like you just swam with your clothes on, so I popped the key into the door and ducked into the cover of my starkly boring kitchen, only to end up here. On hindsight, it seems that the pink picture of perfection was probably not exactly some miracle of nature, but rather the blood rushing into my head at breakneck speeds, sans the neck breaking. And then again, a break from the shit of reality never hurt though.

Oh if you were wondering, I found this chapter off a book by Northrop Frye, and I decided to associate my blog with some famous guy. Ha. This also goes to show that contrary to my online msn status, I actually have been trying to do something for EE! And yet, the very fact that here I am writing a sodding blog post sheds some light on the reality of affairs. Oh am I screwed.

I shall end my rant now. I hope this makes up for a really long dry period of lack of postings

the view from here,
2'2"