I’m a happy person and other unrelated rubbish
Shift manager: Anastasia, I saw you smiling to yourself…
Me: What? Are you jealous that I’m happy person?
Reality- I saw Mr Cute (Asian) who’s a regular who is so ****** hot!
*winces*
Shift starts at 8 tomorrow. I need to sleep two hours ago.
Mr Cute (ang moh) was also there today. Sigh…
I can’t work here, I’m going to hell if I get anymore lustful thoughts…
Kidding, of course. But…
Sigh…
I am tired. I am sleepy. I am cranky. I am hungry. I am frustrated. I am scared. I am annoyed. I am sad. I am.
I am plainly in a bad mood.
I’m in one of those moods where I’m in it because I’m tired but I’m too stubborn to go to sleep.
Like, you know, when I’m suicidal because I’m lacking serotonin but am too stubborn to take SSRIs.
I hate people like me, seriously.
I’ve got work in the morning tomorrow. Which means rush hour crowd.
Then my mum’s got an appointment with MY psych. Which is like sharing underwear.
Then I’ve got some session thing which I am quite looking forward to.
I find it rather interesting that a few weeks ago, I was unemployed and un-studying. Watching two episodes of Charmed a day and gorging on chocolate chip cookies, kitkats and eating bread and butter for lunch.
My schedule is booked almost full for the whole of next month with work commitments and Church commitments, among other things.
I am not any happier than I was. I’m a lot more distracted, I can’t deny that, and therefore less depressed. But I am not happier.
Oh God, help me not to kill myself.
But then again, I’m not sincere in asking that.
Singapore F1
But many who are first will be last, and many who are last will be first.
Matt 19: 30
The race was rather uneventful in the beginning. Assuming, of course, if you ignore the fact that Fernando Alonso was starting from 15th position.
I had faith in Alonso though, I figured that him in a Renault, he could probably end in about 8th-ish place or so. But I was wrong.
Let’s see… To put things simple.
Somebody bang wall, car spin. Safety car out. People in pit lane. Alonso becomes first. Massa (who started from pole [1st] position) drove out of the pit with the petrol hose still attached to his car. Massa ends up last.
Four laps before the race ends, Sweet Hot Kimi Raikkonen falls asleep (or something) and drives into a wall he has driven past for 58 laps and did not hit.
The race was far from uneventful.
Ferrari started out with one car in pole and the other in 3rd ends up with ZERO constructor’s points.
Alonso started out in 15th but, after his teammate’s spin-bang-wall incident, ends not just on the podium but first!
I wouldn’t call myself a fan of Alonso but I did enjoy the race anyway.
Raikkonen in a wall did dampen my spirits though. =(
On the humorous note. A few laughable incidents was screened on the tv.
One is that some driver, not sure who, drove off the track. As in, he was supposed to turn left but he went straight so he had to make a u-turn. Amusing. But the way an F1 car does a U-turn is fantastic.
The other would be one of the drivers, can’t remember his name, threw his cap to the crowd but somehow it ended up in the river instead! I laughed til I had to curl up in a ball!
Can’t wait for next year’s race!
I love myself. I love my life.
I love myself. I love my life.
I love myself. I love my life.
I love myself. I love my life.
I love myself. I love my life.
How many times do you think I have to say that before I start believing it?
When will I learn not to compare? When will I learn that I am exactly where He wants me to be right here right now? When will I learn to focus on my good points and not my bad?
That I am stronger than anyone else would ever dare to be.
That I am smarter than anyone else would ever try to be.
That I am luckier than anyone else would ever pray to be.
Unrelated is that today in CG, I showed them a picture of a Jesus as a Shepherd with His sheep. And someone commented that the sheep looks like a pig. And so we agreed that Jesus is the Pigherd and we are all His pigs.
Related by their non-relation, in work today. I counted the money in the till three times and I got three different answers. I lamented that I sucked at maths, not quite daring to mutter under my breath, “This isn’t calculus. I can’t do addition if it doesn’t involve calculus. And I can’t add properly on an ordinary calculator, I need at least a scientific calculator if not a graphic one.” Yes, I am a pompous arrogant proud bitch.
The end.
The insanity never ends
I went to NUH ward 12 today. Ward 12 is the psychiatric ward. No, I wasn’t warded. And acquaintance of mine was. Is.
Two things strike me most about the visit. The first being that I felt like I was going “home”, not the euphemism for killing myself but rather, to a place I belonged. Maybe I just want to be there because I am under the illusion that I can hit pause if I’m in there. Feeling so at home there made it difficult. It truly made me want to sit against the wall and hit such an awful thought out of my head.
The other thing that I realised was how ridiculously stupid the system is. My acquaintance is suicidal, apparently. She’s under observation there. When I went to talk with her today, she seemed perfectly sane and rational as any other person I know. I believe that her case is the kind I know best, the kind that I’ve been in before, the rational kind.
So I fail to see how you can keep a person who is rationally depressed for a whole week in a ward with persons who are not rational. It is pure torture to do such a thing.
She’s sharing a room with a lady with MPD. Multiple personality disorder. Who is, what our stupid society would define as, insane.
She’s locked in a ward, because she’s under observation, with people who take chairs and throw across the room. With people who switch on the tv to insane levels of loudness. With people who are the exact opposite of what she is. To put it quite simply, with people who are insane.
If there is anything worse than being insane, it is being sane around insane people. But the worst of all would be this. To put a person who is on the brink of insanity but is still sane with insane people.
YOU DON’T FUCKING DO THAT TO HUMAN BEINGS!!
After 5 minutes of talking to her, I feel like pretending to attempt to kill myself just so that I can be in there with her.
Halt the world that’s spinning
Quiet in the daytime noise,
Silenced by the peace of God.
Crying through the happy smiles,
A Hand stretched out to hold me.
Dreams of understanding this,
plants a hope of meaning.
Visions of my Father,
gives me faith in being.
Halt the world that’s spinning,
Only One can do.
Wipe the tears of suffering,
Only You are true.
Hypersomnia is when you wake up at 730 to have breakfast. Go back to sleep after breakfast. Wake up at 12. Go back to sleep at four. And then wake up again at 7.
But sleep and work are the only things I know that work in keeping my brain from going into overdrive.
Even then, sleep doesn’t seem to be working so well anymore. Nor does work.
I’ve been getting rather strange dreams lately, dreams that point to the possibility that my brain isn’t at all resting when my body is.
And I might be, possibly, maybe, have been hurting myself ever so slightly and insignificantly and discreetly at work. But it’s nothing.
And I don’t know who said what to whom but somehow someway my mother is starting to know that I hurt myself. Which makes my paranoia spike to the incredible heights of the universe that makes me suspect that a certain psych might be saying things I think he should not be saying.
It’s annoying, the things that I used to do in front of other people that she never suspected were self-hurting, she now asks me to stop doing it.
Even the things that are not really self-hurting she asks me to stop doing it. Like peeling my lips. It’s an awful habit, I don’t deny. But it doesn’t hurt and her thinking that I’m doing it to hurt myself and wanting me to stop because of that makes me want to not stop in some strange teenage rebellious stupid-ness.
And she thinks the psych is wasting his time and her money by wanting to speak to her. Hah!!!! She’s just as avoidant as I am. And just as obsessive, if not more of those two. Hah! *sticks tongue out*
On an unrelated note is that I can steam milk pretty well. I guess it is kinda like Chem Prac after all.
I had a strange dream last night, or it might’ve been the morning of afternoon, about my psych who is of normal size and has a head full of hair. In my dream, apart from my psych being balding and fat, my entire family was in the room for goodness knows what reasons and towards the end of the session, he wanted to talk to me alone. So they all left and then we talked. It was more like friendly chit chat rather than anything else and I was telling him about work and stuff. At this point, I would like to remind you that this is merely a dream with no significance whatsoever towards repressed anythings and that I do not like Freud and if you try to freud this dream I will hit you. As we were talking, and he was saying something about it’s not really work that is stressing me out, his face was about six inches from my face. Nothing happened thankyouverymuch. At some point, the session ended and I went out to find my mother crying, in public, over something my sister did and for some reason, my family just looked really dysfunctional and I was thinking in my heart in my dream, “My goodness, I can’t believe that I’m the one that’s going for therapy.”
This isn’t the first time this week I’ve dreamt about my psych, first time I’ve dreamt about him as balding and fat, but not the first time otherwise.
Which reminds me, in a way that I do not understand how, that I need to do laundry if I intend to go to work tomorrow in clean clothes.
And that I need to buy at least one other pair of pants if I don’t want my favourite pair to disintegrate into nothing but particles from being washed a hundred times too many.
And that I should wash my shoes. I got my dad to bring down the shoes I used to wear in St John so that I don’t have to buy a new pair. Now I have to wash it but I’m putting it off as much as possible because it is, in my mind, possibly covered in spiderwebs and maybe even spider corpses. But if I leave it in my bathroom any longer than I do, it’s going to have mould growing on it.
One motivation for me to wash those shoes is that after I wash them, I don’t have to hide my socks because my socks would match my shoes. Then I can wear bermudas or skirts to work which means two things. One, that my favourite pair of black slacks needn’t disintegrate into particles. Two, that I have more legs to show off to the oh-so-hot customers.
Not that I will be wearing skirts to show off my legs to customers or anything immoral like that. *ahem*
And I know I’ve said this before, but I honestly down own any skirts that are above my knees when I stand. I have a dress that’s above my knees, a dress that was passed down to me by my sister (she’s shorter), but no skirts.
And the only short shorts that I wear are the boxers I wear at home. yes, I wear a t-shirt and boxers at home. I thought I already told you that if I could, I’d cross dress more often?
It’s not that I want to be a man, it’s just that men’s clothes are so much nicer. A lot more boring, which is why I wouldn’t cross dress ALL the time. But nicer. I like the jumpers, the shirts. And it’s so much easier to find men’s shirts with cufflink cuffs than women’s.
I am perfectly aware that this post has no theme, no common topic and no meaning, whatsoever. That might explain why I have not titled it.
I just intend for this post to be super duper wooper long.
Just for fun, y’know?
The rising sun brings naught,
But heat that is blistering hot,
If I could just sleep,
for just one more minute,
please allow my corpse to rot.
I’ve been reading too many limericks, as may be evident.
There we go, 1022 words in just under 30 minutes.
More about work
There should be a law against allowing geriatrophiles to work in the place I work at. Twice, today alone, have I wanted to go, “Can I marry you?” instead of “would you like a curry puff to go with that?”
I’m sorry for my graphic imagery but there’s something about certain accents that goes straight to my G-spot.
Chingyee, I think you’d love to work with me!
That aside, something very nice happened to me today. A colleague of mine made a wrong drink. The customer ordered something else but he made chocolate cream chip frapuccinno instead. Chocolate cream chip is my all time favourite at Sbux. All time. So imagine my delight when I found out he made the wrong drink. “Don’t throw that away, I want that!” heh heh… It made my day. Made up for my missed ten minute break too.
On an unrelated note, went out with Tyc today. It’s good to have my old friends here. Old friends I need not work so hard to avoid because they already know me. People I can trust, y’know?
Mydreams
have been having a lot of dreams lately, Some weirder than others.
One of the ones that I want to share, in brief, is the one where I was in Church.
It was kinda like an international thing. At least, there were people of various languages there. We had some sort of opening song which were really just syllables not much more profound that eieio. Mind you, this was during Mass. And then some sort of weird performance where people on one half of the church were holding big white pieces of manila card and people on the other half were holding big pieces of manila card of another colour, i can’t remember what colour, either red or black I think.
I don’t really remember but my guess is that one stood for good and the other for evil. So the first row people were linking hands and trying to keep the other colour from entering their half but bit by bit, somehow someway, the people on the left side (can’t remember what colour that was) managed to break through and filled the right side.
And then the lights went off. I think good triumphed.
Then the emcee (somehow it wasn’t Mass anymore) invited everyone. That if they had a song they wanted to share, they could tell the band and we would all sing it together as a community. Then starting from one person and spreading across the room, we broke out into a chant. Latin chant, “Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi. Miserere nobis. Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, Miserere nobis. Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, donna nobis pacem.” It’s a familiar chant but basically, at that moment I broke down and cried because I was feeling so unworthy yet I knew I belonged anyway.
And another thought that came to my mind was that the Catholic Church is united by her history, including Latin. And how the different people of different languages all knew this chant.
It was all so real, it was so cool. Even when I woke up, I didn’t want to forget it.
I cannot help but think how correct the feeling is, that even in real life, away from dreamland, i am unworthy yet I belong.
note:
Chant translates into “Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy on us. Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy on us. Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world, grant us peace.”
I hate Facebook
i hate facebook i hate facebook i hate facebook i hate facebook i hate facebook i hate facebook i hate facebook.
Seriously, I never learn.
One is that I never learn not to love myself the way I am. The other is that I never learn how, knowing that I don’t know how to love myself, to not compare myself with others.
Facebook just makes it so damned easy to compare my pathetic life with the successful lives of my peers.
Granted, I can see at least one of them killing themselves in the not so far future but SO not the point.
I can’t quite get over how grown up they look now too. I used to see them in school uniforms, suddenly, they look so adult. I figure that I probably look more grown up too if I didn’t look at myself (a few times) everyday in the mirror. They look so manly and womanly now, it scares me. Am I really that old?
On the bright side, a coffeeshop auntie called me xiao mei (little sister) today. I haven’t been called that in ages. Coffeeshop aunties and uncles used to call me that all the time when I was dressed in school uniform but never when I was out. It was always xiao jie (miss). I like the way it sounds, makes me miss my chicken rice uncle back in Msia. He was extremely chatty, always spoke to me in Mandarin until I told him, in Cantonese, that I don’t understand Mandarin. And always called me xiao mei mei.
But alas, I digress. This post is supposed to be about the barista school dropout.
