Me, Myself and I

I waste time at the computer because I’m scared of the enormous rocky slope that I’m supposed to climb if I am to get any better at anything. I suddenly remembered Chee Siang at Mount Annupuri and how windy and foggy it was there. I eat like crazy because I have lost all sense of distinction as to what is nutritious and what is merely soothing. I have an acoustic version of a Franz Ferdinand song after which one can hear Alex Kapranos’s sexy voice saluting over the beginning of another song which is abruptly cut. I just found out the stray beginning belongs to Bloc Party’s Pioneers, and that it was on my playlist since who knows when. I wish I could write more and worry less. I want to travel again. I don’t want fancy plates and glasses on my future dining table, or at least I cannot afford them if I want to carry out my adventurous travel plans for the near future. I read Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s “The Yellow Wallpaper” and it was like a revelation. I might never become fluent at German because I cannot make any sense out of what they are trying to teach me in class. I don’t want my life to be fixed by diplomats’ wives. I inexplicably ran out of money, but I suspect a friend’s impending debt might be behind this sudden shortage. I miss Friday lunch with my German teacher and the nice Ecuadorian guy who happens to be a teacher too, just not in my faculty. I should read that Murakami book that’s lying on the floor and promptly return it to its owner, except that if I did then we’d run out of excuses to say hello. I want to go home. I heard the room phone ringing at midnight last night, but I did not care to answer it because no one is supposed to know my room’s extension number, and those who know it are not supposed to call at such ungodly hours. I burn incense, stick after stick, craving for exotic scents like someone would crave for nicotine. I listen to Franz Ferdinand incessantly: it makes days sunnier, nights calmer, and bicycle rides more enjoyable. I want loads of sushi. I hate the author of Tsukiji and his “I am American but I speak better Japanese than the Emperor” attitude. I have cold feet. I have a heater that doesn’t work. I should sleep now.

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