signs

My penchant for antisocial behaviour continues to escalate. Most recently, I've taken to walking alone in the neighbourhood around midnight.

On the way to the waterfront I pass a primary school, a retirement village, and usually a bunch of teenagers (different ones each time) who greet me, when they do, with "Good morning", "Good afternoon", etc. Once I reach the river I head towards a small jetty 30 minutes (at a leisurely pace) away. It is a cruisy, scenic, albeit poorly lit route. I have my mp3 player and my older-than-N man-sneakers, and for an hour and a half I'm the queen of the world.

Last night I wore uniform trackpants kept from my 2-month stint at a Chn secondary school - back in 1995, and a green flannel shirt I've had since age 11 - buttoned all the way up. Night before last was overcast, stormy, and the river moving fast; standing on that jetty, I felt like a character (and not one that survives to the end) in some B-grade Jap black-&-white horror flick.

But even an aspiring recluse needs a break from hermitude now and again. Which is why tonight I broke the habit and went to hang out at Shell & Tez's instead. There was pizza, gossip (in part relating to Channel 7's newest weekend weather presenter), photo-flaunting, and (atypically) no alcohol. I showed them Kenny, confident of a warm reception: they (or rather, we) appreciate and share Kenny's linguistic style; heck, one of the boyfriends even looks a bit like Kenny.

sense and insensitivity

If you happen to read this, and work out that it's about you - apologies in advance for such indiscretion and for any offence taken however unlikely the event. I reiterate my gossiping policy which appears on the cover page. Moreover, not that I'm scraping for excuses, nobody else reading this has met you and if they ever do I know they'll adore you as much as I do. Trust me - I may have poor taste generally, but I have great taste in people.

For a decent part of Honours year I half-heartedly nurtured a healthy-sized crush on this guy. Half-hearted for it was a love affair doomed from the start. Among the obstacles standing in our way were:

1. our comparable lack of basic social skills;
2. his utter oblivion to the whole thing, for the most part anyway (as is usually the case with objects of one's hidden affection); and
3. my concurrent and seriouser crush on some girl halfway across the world (and otherwise quite unattainable), which crush was forcing me to confront my previously realised-but-ignored fluidity/versatility/diversity/whatever-else-you-wan2-call-it.

At the time I was highly dismissive of the crush in question, putting it down to a manifestation of my denial of, and/or an attempted solution to, the crush referred to in point 3 above. In hindsight, however, I am more convinced that there might've been some substance to it. I mean really, why wouldn't/shouldn't I like a guy who sings, writes, makes tiramisu, and has good dress sense?

I'll tell you why. Because guys like him simply don't go 'round with gals like me. They belong with... guys like themselves! Though I can't be 100% sure, that was the gist I got from our last virtual exchange. Dude, I don't care how stupid or daggy this sounds, thanks for sharing - in such cool understated fashion, to boot.

With each discovery of this kind the world makes a little more sense. (Not a word from yous about my taste in men.)

space probe

In the past 6 months alone the words:
- scary
- extremely overwhelming
- disturbing
- [insert any others you've been muttering under your breaths]
were used by various entities to describe my supposed ability to make people speak. Which giveth me great pause.

In place of this sentence there would've been an elaborate explanation of How and Why (involving much circular reasoning and pompous vocab, no doubt), if only I were able to articulate what troubles me as well as I do what amuses.

As things stand, the one I scared is unlikely to speak to me ever again (albeit due to additional idiocy on my part), and the one I overwhelmed wants to do anything but speak. It is thus no small consolation that at least the one whose mother I disturbed still answers my phone calls.

creep

A number of exchanges took place in the past 24hrs which alerted me to the possibility of something I feel neither able nor inclined to entertain whole-heartedly. That is not to say that said possibility is at all unpleasant. It is just that once again my over-developed analytical faculties get in the way of cute cheap thrills.

Brain is nearing shut-down but must remain conscious 'til 3am to pick up returning Bruneian lodger from airport. Figured this'd be a slightly less painful alternative to dragging myself up just as the slumber gets sweet.

Driving alone late at night with windows down and poor-me music blasting has to be one of my more masochistic indulgences. Still, I wonder whether an Agreeably-Occupied Front Passenger Seat could ever constitute a legitimate goal-in-life? If not, it should.

Earlier this evening there had been a Brokeback Mountain screening (read: deliberate self-inflicted wallow-fest) for two, followed by brief karaoke (in our defence, we went out on Don't Dream It's Over so it was all very empowering, or something). I was at once disturbed and embittered by his being a better cryer than I.