can hardly wait

My excitement impedes my ability to pun. Hence, a post free of double entendres, and of any discernible point, though the latter is quite the norm.

I am packed. I am cashed up. My room resembles less of a pigsty and more of an average slacker's room than it did last week. I have bid my adieus. I am ready to go! See, when I have a plan, I always deliver ahead of schedule. (Which is consistent with the observation that I submitted uni assignments more and more at-the-last-minute as the years went by.)

Since somebody kindly spared me the expense and retail-associated trauma (RAT) of buying a backpack, I invested part of the $ saved in a couple of books, in the hope of giving myself a crash course in Arabic, Egyptology, etc. Needless to say, my enthusiasm has been matched by neither aptitude nor will. Still, based on what little I've absorbed, it is an atypical case of the-more-I-know-the-more-I-like. Already I am wishing I'd organised a longer stay, and planning a second visit.

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I live a life of such excesses. I have more clothes than I've time to wear, more food than is required to sustain my body, more space than I need to be comfortable, more money than is made good use of, more love and affection than I give, more problems than I can or care to articulate... Why? And who am I taking from? (Other than the problems, that is, of which each person is her/his own most reliable supplier.)

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It was a Saturday night to remember. Excellent moussaka from Greek Cafe was followed by 5hrs of karaoke, during which obscure and forgotten tunes the likes of which Nthbridge had never known, were sacrileged with great fervour and little finesse (speaking only for myself). Tunes so obscure, it is not simply a matter of age nationality upbringing or personal preference, but also of what it means to embrace all things underrated unconventional and virtually-unknown. So forgotten, the karaokeers themselves were surprised by how differently the tunes sounded to the way they do in their heads (at least that's my excuse for not being able to keep up).

Just like family get-togethers, raunchy parties, getting blind-drunk, and combinations thereof, karaoke is one of those things I couldn't handle every weekend, but invariably miss if deprived of for too long.

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While on our post-dumplings walk this eve, N brought up the topic of dreams which, when I did in the past, made for poor conversation because she tended to remember having dreamed but not what about. Apparently she dreams a lot about being separated from family (as do most 8yo's I'd imagine, family being their gateway to, and frame of reference for, the world): in public places, by a house fire that engulfs everything and everyone except for her, ...; at the moment it's driving around looking for me, without success. I told her about similar dreams of mine, omitting of course the gruesome details some of which still make me shudder.