sunday bloody sunday.
every sunday morning lately has been a trial. cos i can see the windows and with the air of religion in my lungs, i start to get existential. and i wonder what it would be like the just take a short cut from the 3rd floor to meet the parking lot.
but it's a see saw and exhausting cos sometimes i feel very euphoric. and bounce back to suicidal. where is my sense of self worth? it's repressed by my sense of blurness.
on to other things, sunday is designated driver day. as in, i am designated driver. compounded with my moodiness from earlier, it's translated to theme park driving. add upset and agitated passengers(mom, dad, bro) giving me hints/instructions/advice/screams/chiding/and so on and so forth. it does wonders for my sense of patience and control. though i need to work on my sense of well, sense. in retrospect, i do really dumbfuck things on the road. so all directed comments are justified.
now it's night, and i'm cheerful again. cheerful-ISH. at least i don't feel like emptying the panadol stash anyway. all give thanks for music, art, and terry pratchett.
all the shots of stuff in the house.
blue|one
(looking at blue pom-poms) Whoever killed these smurfs sure meant business.
Whose Line is it Anyways? |
