Books…
I finally got the first of my Amazon orders through. I felt like a kid on Xmas – my books have arrived. Incase you might have missed something – Im an official bookaholic. I know the proper term is bibliohile, but I say bookaholic because my obssession with books is getting to be a costly addiction.
I was at Sahara the other day with my sis and she forced me to hand over my wallet to her before I stepped into a bookstore. 
Have I really gotten so out of hand? Well, possibly. I spent about 3k on only books last month. I was broke for about a week, living off chewing gum and water.
But my salary came in and I got a bonus! Well, everyone in the company got a bonus but it’s my first bonus in my first fulltime job! I’m actually employed! I’m a big girl now…hopefully.
I also cleaned out my entire bookshelf and have dozens of books to give away – self-help, fiction, children’s books, educational and school – list is endless. I’m thinking of donating it to charity – mum said she’d take it to work and give it to her peeps who can donate it on my behalf.
In the process of cleaning, I found quite a few old books – we’re talking 1880 publications – possibly my great-grandmother’s books. I flipped through them – most were collections of poetry. The ink was sepia, the pages thin and fragile, and an inscription and date. I never knew I had a piece of history with me. Even though the poems and books don’t interest me, I kept them for historical sake.
I know we have Quran that is quite old and tatty and dating about 1935 – but that’s the Quran I want to take with me when I move out. Why? Because it’s the first Quran I ever read from, and was the one I was reading during my very short stay in Boston – and it has history. If you know me by now, anything with history and emotional/sentimental value are things I treasure.
There’s a book that P borrowed to me and I liked it so much, I ordered a copy for myself. But I’m giving him the new copy and keeping his old one – because a book that’s ‘broken’ into is much more cosier to me then a freshly packed book. Plus there’s the spiritual imprint of his and mine. And it accompanied me to US.
Perhaps I’m an antique lover. But I’m not the type to buy any antique or buy things simply because they’re old – if I sense something that has history, or feel like it will stand the test of time, I want it. Speaking of which, what do you think of this:
Click on the link more details on the Monopoly set
Wishlists…
Another month or so and the sun will once again complete a revolution for the 24th time since a certain blogger was born. On a slightly cheeky note, that certain blogger has a wish list should anyone wish to send their regards:
PS: It’s also added in the sidebar…
All About P…
I think people are getting the wrong idea about P. P and I…we have a weird relationship. It’s ambivalent yet not. He isn’t a jerk…not really. He hasn’t done anything to screw me over. He’s actually been my rock through all this time, cushioning the fall. Ok, that sounds even more weird.
Let me back up. We are friends for over two years, getting close and intimate almost a year back. He listens. He comforts. He protects. He’s stable. Yes, I love him to bits as a friend. And yes, perhaps our relationship is more than just being best friends. But it isn’t just a romantic or sexual or whatever you call a ‘relationship’ between a man and a woman. He fulfills a void in my life where I needed a father (or fatherly figure), a best friend and a lover.
But I know this isn’t something that will lead to marriage. Not because it can’t happen. Because I don’t want it to happen. And neither does he. We’ve talked about lots of things that are important to us. And things like religion, kids and values that matter most to us clash horribly. I’m not budging, and neither will he. And to compromise would lead to one of us simmering and resenting the other. And quite frankly, I think both of us enjoy the company now while waiting for better things to happen. Either I will meet someone else, or he will. If I do, well I’m not going to be the one boohooing. And if he finds someone….well, I’ll be quite happy for him. Provided she’s worth it. I’d always wish the best for him.
The reason for the partial dread as mentioned in my previous post was because my experience tells me anyone, be it friend or significant other, goes out of town and never returns the same. Something always changes. And I know me – I’m not happy with change, at least not with relationships. I make so few connections and bonds with people that I’d hate losing them. Therefore I dread holidays or someone, be it me or the other person, leaving the country. They always change.
Hermit…
I’m turning into one. Or I will be soon enough, if not already. And for the time being, I actually like being alone. I don’t know why. Even though I crave company, I don’t really want it. It’s like eye-candy. Even though your eyes are telling you that you want that yummy piece of praline, your stomach is saying no.
I’m not even craving for P anymore. A part of me is dreading his return. Because that means I’ll get attached again. Or that things will be different once he’s back, and it won’t pick up from where we left it. I’ll be disappointed. And I’d rather be distant and not care then to feel disappointment.
I think I’m turning into stone slowly. I’m not caring anymore. I haven’t been since I went to USA. I know for one that Cammy’s wedding would be a bittersweet moment: joy at seeing her grow up, sorrow at realizing that we’re no longer kids and that we can’t have the same relationship as before. Or maybe it’s some weird pseudo-grief. That even in the comforts of being in my home town, I feel like I’m in a foreign land with no support system. People keep discrediting me, calling me spoiled or privileged or that I can’t feel alienation because I haven’t moved anywhere and my family is with me.
But do they know me? Do they know how my childhood passed? I don’t remember much because I blocked it out. I remember reading certain books. I remember the details of the books. I can recount songs that make me remember certain O-Level and A-level facts. Because all I ever did when my parents fought was lock myself up in the bathroom and study. Listen to music on my headphones and study to block everything out. All my life from when I can remember till the day I graduated is studying. It blocks most of the pain and stress out.
And now that I can’t study anymore, I can’t cope with reality and it’s pressures. Which is why I’m now addicted to reading and watching TV. I zone out. It’s my alcohol, my pain-killers, my drugs. I used to depend on friends. But people are unreliable. Family? Forget it. They can be as fickle as friends. In reality, I don’t think I trust anyone anymore. Sure, there are certain close friends of mine that won’t try to do me in deliberately – but even unintentional hurt pains like a bitch. I know they don’t mean it and they’re sorry, but I’d like to avoid it just the same.
I truly, deeply, sorely wish if it were even remotely possible, that I could escape into a fantasy world of my own – like Harry Potter, Landover, Tortall…anyone of those. Or even be the supervillaness. Do you know I really wish I could be Poison Ivy? Immune to every biological pathogen, toxins and what not, yet is seductive and can kill with a kiss? Plus red hair to boot. Or even Nightshade from Landover.
But since I can’t physically be in those places, I guess I’d like to spend whatever idle time I have being immersed in reading about it, letting it fill my senses and take me to another place that isn’t my miserable life.
I guess I need a purpose, a reason to keep living and feeling joy. And even though work is fun and exciting, it can’t fill all the voids of my life. I feel physically sick waking up in the morning. I don’t want to wake up. I don’t want to die either, but I just hate waking up into the world. I have to drag or fall off bed to wake up and drag my ass to work. I always thought being in love would motivate me and give a purpose.
But love sucks. It’s as bad as alcohol or drugs. It gives you a high initially, but then it just gives you a false sense of worth and then makes you crash and burn so bad that you wonder why you got there in the first place. And being addicted, you keep doing it until your body gives up and you die a cruel death, or turn to stone. Perhaps I’m more of the latter…
Yes, I’m depressed, in case you were wondering….
Him…
SHOOF Troops is exciting and it’s keeping me on my toes. Coordinating and running such a big competition is fulfilling in a way.
And now there’s some breathing space. And it hit me this morning and I sobbed all the way to work. I really loved him. I accepted him warts and all. I felt he knew me better than most, and understood and accepted me too. He sounded interested in, and could handle my dysfunctionality. I could actually imagine a future. And feel that even through the crazy times, he’d be there for me and I’d be ok. We’d make it.
Apparently I was wrong. I was too much to handle. He didn’t want me enough. He didn’t love me enough. He couldn’t accept me, dysfunctionality and all. He couldn’t care less – I didn’t mean anything. And it hurts. Because I know that even someone who could be even close to understanding me doesn’t want me. Who will?
Even if I accept myself, it isn’t enough. I want someone to like me. To want me. To need me. To think they want me for life.
I don’t want him back. But it hurts that he left me just the same.
Psi-vamps…
I know its been a while since I’ve blogged, but things have been hectic at work. What with a new mega-comp out and having to work on Saturdays too, all I want to do when I go home is sleep.
And today is kinda slow because everyone here is sick or out on meetings. Ironic eh? The day I come early, no-one is here to notice it. I’m feeling extremely sleepy. I didn’t sleep well last night. I slept late to begin with, at around 12.30-1 (although that is generally early for me). And then I kept waking up at night because I felt tremors, like as if it were an earthquake. And then I felt a pressing feeling on me, like someone was lying on top of me. I snapped wide awake and tried reading a few verses to calm me down, but everytime I dozed to sleep, I felt it again and woke up.
I finally got some rest at about dawn. This isn’t the first time it’s happened to me. But atleast I had P to message or call whenever I woke up. And he’s not even here anymore. No, I don’t tell this to anyone because they’d either think I’m making it up, loony or freak out and say something like I’m evil. I don’t know what it is, but I just feel exhausted and drained by morning. A part of me is not even sure if P even believes me or is just playing along to make me feel better.
Tarot and others…
This week’s been busy. And I haven’t had time or energy for Tarot. So will try to do them when possible.
I realize the Tarot takes a lot of energy. I always feel exhausted after doing a reading, whether for myself or for someone else. It’s weird isn’t it? It’s like I can only do like one a day, or max 3-4 if I really push myself. And sometimes people don’t get it.
On one hand they condemn it saying that its a sin, yet pester me to do a reading, just for kicks. I don’t do just for kicks. Let me get one thing straight. I don’t believe much in the whole ‘predict your future’ thing and nothing is written in stone. I believe life happen to us in a combination of our destiny, our predetermined path, and choice. Without choice, everything would go without a glitch because we would have no power. But things never go our way. Why? Because of choice. Our own, someone else’s, it doesn’t matter. Choice is something you can’t predict or foretell. It’s our only way of controlling such a gigantic universe.
Back to Tarot. Now I don’t use the Tarot for the future. What I do use it for is guidance, a form of introspection. It’s a way of connecting with yourself, being able to figure out things in your subconscious. Think of it as a complex version of flipping a coin for answering a tricky question, except you have 78 options. And each option is a part of your subconscious that can help in narrowing an answer you probably already knew deep down inside but never thought about.
And again, it’s there for guidance, not as the ultimate answer. What you make of it is in the end your call. And it really irritates me when people use me for the Tarot for amusement. Or think I’m satanic. Because I’m not. I’m just tapping into my subconscious, which is not meant for me to waste on trivial pursuits. It takes a lot out of me.
That aside, things have been really busy this week, and probably will be for the next few weeks. I hope P comes back soon. I think I’m getting frustrated. But at the same time I feel I need distance. Perhaps its the meds.
Sexy Boys…
I’ll keep this short and sweet. I think I’m so totally in love with Hugh Laurie. In addition to my long-time infatuation with Alan Rickman. And I realized I tend to find sarcastic, suave, sexy-sounding Brit-sounding anti-hero-type men very appealing. And mature to boot. Like there has to be a gap of at least 10-15 years (mentally).
And I noticed I tend to like certain people who are possibly more like status symbols to me then life-partners. Have I become materialistic or shallow?
I ended up having a naughty dream about someone. It surprised me too. Perhaps I’m subconsciously developing a bit of a crush. Or perhaps I’m just frustrated and need to get laid. Or maybe its those damn pills that make me nauseated. Argh…should just drop all contact with said person. Not that there was any to begin with. But no texting or messaging either. It will probably make me act more odd, or end up being more stalker-sounding. Not a good idea.
PCOD…
I hate taking those damn pills. They make me emotionally psychotic. But no-one ever listens to me. They say it’s all part of a normal woman’s cycle. They never understand that it makes me psychotic. Emotional. Suicidal. Depressed. Noooooooo, they don’t see it my way.
So to fix my problem, I take those damn hated pills. And the looniness begin. The depression. Paranoia. A feeling of futility and wretchedness. Having tears well up in my eyes every time I hear an unkind word, even in jest. And then once the pills make me bleed, the painful cramps that take the air out of my lungs begin. I feel even more wretched and suicidal. I know I would never really do it, but the thoughts still remain. I feel ugly, fat, undesirable and unloved. And I try to live life a little more carelessly in the hopes I do kick the bucket soon. I smoke like a chimney hoping I get some lung disease to end it all. I tend to cross roads with no care in the world hoping I get run over.
I begin to contradict myself. I crave company, yet get irritated and turn mean if it is not the way I want it. I expect so much from friends, but get hurt, disappointed and angry if it isn’t as I expected. I hate myself. And yet I manage to live this way and do my job with a straight face, with hardly anyone knowing better. Perhaps the only change people notice is that I get short-tempered. And I dread going home, knowing I have more problems to face when I get there.
I don’t know what to do, even knowing what I am capable of. I feel isolated – like a Jekyll and Hyde. Or a werewolf. Nobody ever listens to why I have an aversion to those rotten pills. Because they don’t have to suffer what I have to.
My regular gynae went on holiday so they replaced her with some irritating bitch. She looked at my case and said something as insensitive as “Best solution for you is marriage.” WHAT THE FUCK?!!?!?!?! I was tempted to tell her I didn’t need marriage to get the same ’solution’ and that despite getting regular doses of ‘it’, ‘it’ hasn’t really changed my case. But I kept my mouth shut and tried to stay calm through clenched teeth. So the bitch gave me the pills. And I must take them until my regular comes back in April. Bitch!!!!
Now I shall go and think of different ways of ending my life…and imagining them in my head. Piff Paff and chewing gum seem to be my favorite. As well as a sky-diving accident where the parachute fails to open. SPLAT! Or perhaps falling off Burj Dubai. But I’d probably break a few bones and be a vegetable because its bottom heavy so I’d probably hit a floor instead of the ground. Or maybe eat so much cholesterol and saturated food that I die of a greasy coronary….the ways are endless….
Page of Wands…
Today’s card is the Page of Wands. Wands represent that part of us which includes ambition, creative energy and growth.
In the Waite deck, the card depicts a youth who is holding his wand rather proud, just like is about to relay a message. In the Gothic deck, a gargoyle is pushing down on a skull with his right hand while holding the wand in his left. His moth is open and tongue out, as if to speak.
The card symbolizes an upcoming message, one of personal nature – unexpected but perhaps good news. It also can represent a loyal and passionate companion – friend of friends, enemy of enemies. While on their good side, they are fiercely loyal and devoted. But when on their bad side, a deadly opponent. But as it is a Page card, it could also represent someone who has yet to learn and wise up and so maybe naive and possessing child-like innocence.
