But then I read a badly argued article on an important issue in Singapore and I am convinced that the author of the article has got everything wrong, and I can't help but feel the urge to set things straight. If not set things straight, then at least to provide an alternative (and more appealing) point of view. On a good day, I even get a kick out of writing pretty okay-ish arguments.
It all boils down to this: I must learn to take the good with the bad. I am probably never going to stop doubting myself, so I should get used to it. How am I not used to it already? I literally think that every single thing I have ever written is crap. I wrote three papers last (academic) year, two of which will definitely not see the light of day, and for the simple reason that I think they're absolute shit and not even worthy of peer review, let alone publication. Hopefully this one that I am writing will be better.
I finally hauled my ass to the library. I wanted to clock five hours yesterday but I got tired and hungry at 5pm. At least I was there at 1pm. Today, I ditched my overly-optimistic plan of getting there in the morning for a morning swim. It was a good swim, I think. I could've pushed harder, but I could feel my swimming cap slipping further and further up my head, and so I stopped when I hit the number of laps that I wanted to do.
I had dinner, frozen yogurt and drinks with Marc yesterday. We met at City Hall and had Indian vegetarian, which was yummy, and shared some Llao Llao yogurt, and walked along the river from the Esplanade to the Fullerton, then to Boat Quay. At Boat Quay, we chanced upon a 'bespoke' cocktail bar on the upper storey of one of the shophouses. It had an old school Chinese sign that read 'Ah Sam's Cold Drinks Stall' and so we thought it was an old school drinks stall. But it was a cocktail bar. It was one of those bars decorated in the currently trendy retro-cool style, with local flavours, and no menus. The bartenders - sorry, mixologists - prepared drinks according to taste palates.
It sounds really pretentious, doesn't it? It is probably pretentious. But I love such places. Such places are what Cambridge is sorely lacking. I really like the ones in Haji Lane, like Maison Ikkoku and Bar Stories. This Boat Quay place is like that.
My drink came with a meringue on top. Unfortunately, I don't like meringue. The drink itself was nice though. Marc had something with whisky which was also nice. He was shocked when the bill came up to $25 each (excluding GST). I was expecting it to be about $22. Still, it was a nice place.
The evening up to that point had been better than hanging out in Cambridge. When it came to getting a bloody taxi home, though, I started to miss Cambridge. Marc tried to get an Uber cab for me, but the prices kept going up and even crossed the $30 mark. I called a cab in the end and the fare came up to $22.95 - 5 cents cheaper than the first Uber quote.
I thought Uber was supposed to be cheaper than taxis? Screw this shit. I took an Uber in Cambridge and the driver did this massive loop to the train station and it turned out more expensive than a taxi. I don't get it!
Apart from that, I had dinner with Mag at Oriole Capitol Piazza on Thursday. It was fun! She was telling me about her evil pranks on a poor-thing colleague of hers and I could only conclude that she's evil!
I also played some tennis. I've definitely got my rhythm back after the bad start to tennis with Kevin a couple of weeks ago. On Thursday, I played at 10am at NUS and I was definitely wilting in the heat. Despite the wilting, it felt really good when I was timing my shots properly; and not so much when I was doing crap with the backhand.
I had a snafu with the carpark...basically, there were only 3 visitors parking lots left in the carpark and they were all just before the exit. So I tried to reverse in by driving up a suitable distance, but once I did that, the carpark sensor detected my car and beeped me out of the carpark. So I had no choice but to exit. I couldn't find another carpark that was near the courts; couldn't remember how to get to the sports complex one. So I circled in and out of the carpark, once trying to reverse into one of the lots via some others, whatever, and this Indian guy even tried to direct me but I couldn't understand his hand gestures...
In the end, I parked in the handicap lot. I felt bad. But I wanted to get out of the fucking car even more badly. I checked that it wasn't a wheelclamp zone and left my conscience in the car as I walked to the courts.
Will write a private entry now.