I was looking through the stuff in my gmail account and I found a poem. I vaguely remember someone sending it to me or someone telling me of its existence sometime last year, when I went through that thing with that guy, but I can't remember who it was, or how I found the poem. In any case, it's awesome:
I, being born a woman, and distressed
By all the needs and notions of my kind,
Am urged by your propinquity to find
Your person fair, and feel a certain zest
To bear your body's weight upon my breast:
So subtly is the fume of life designed,
To clarify the pulse and cloud the mind,
And leave me once again undone, possessed.
Think not for this, however, this poor treason
Of my stout blood against my staggering brain,
I shall remember you with love, or season
My scorn with pity - let me make it plain:
I find this frenzy insufficient reason
For conversation when we meet again
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Isn't it so empowering? I totally love it.
Evidently, I still haven't started studying. I seriously don't know what the hell I'm doing at all. Swordfish is on right now and I spent an hour drooling over the sacred hotness that is Hugh Jackman in a ratty t-shirt, ratty jeans, with a single earring and tousled hair, and I would be drooling over him right now if my parents hadn't nagged at me every commercial break to study. Bleah. There was also the hotness that is Rudolf Martin with whom I was totally in love in secondary school, but he kind of died half an hour into the movie so that sucked.
Ah, hot guys. Whatever would I do without them? I'm renting Swordfish after the exams. Even though I hate action movies. I'm actually semi-considering watching the new James Bond movie, even though I'm morally against the Bond franchise, just because I find Daniel Craig totally drop-dead sexy. That is just wrong on so many levels! Not the part about me finding him sexy, but the part where I want to watch a deplorable, degrading James Bond movie just because I find the actor playing Bond completely hot.
Because he is. He's hotter than Pierce Brosnan, without a doubt. He has that whole sexy Englishman thing going on, and I don't even know if he's English. But all the same, he's still sexy, I still hate James Bond, most importantly I'm still supposed to be studying for exams so I don't think I will be breaching any more of my moral standards anytime soon.
I keep writing these pointless entries and getting frustrated because I push more meaningful words away in favour of these empty ones. There are things wanting to be said, but I can't, I shouldn't, and I won't. Sometimes I don't know what to say because of this, and so I get around that by writing these superficial, meaningless entries that irritate and disillusion me ten times over. The irony of having an audience. I write publicly because I want my words to be read, but the words I want to write cannot be written because they are not meant for public consumption. I see the inherent irony in my present predicament, and I think it's highly amusing how my exhibitionistic hubris is also my Achilles' heel, the destruction of the creative process. I don't know. It shouldn't be this way, but things have regressed to this point and there's nothing much I can do except to let the tide carry me to wherever it wants to take me.
I still have control over my faculties. The other night I was thinking, I still have control over my...neurons? Faculties. But that's not the word I'm looking for; it's not funny enough. Neurons, I think it is. I wish I remembered or listened during Biology classes so that this moment can be even funnier. There's something sobering about poking fun at yourself that can cure almost any externally-imposed state of giddiness, sometimes working even better than caffeine. Or maybe it's just me. It's probably just me.
I've always wanted to meet a person who gets my sense of humour, who understands my colloquial phrases, who won't take offence when I correct his/her grammar. And there's mutual piss-taking to be had and neither of us would be offended. Wouldn't that be nice? I think it would be very nice. Now, all I need is for that person to materialise.
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind remains one of my favourite films of all time. I really, really, desperately need to own the DVD.
And speaking of owning things by paying for them - I only have $8.09 left in my bank account.
Of all the times I bitched about how broke and how poor I am and how I don't have any freaking money, this is the lowest I have sunk - EVER. I've never gone below $20 prior to this, so imagine my utter shock when I checked my account balance and saw those deplorable digits staring back at me, mocking me, laughing like fucking hyenas in my face. Mouth agape, eyes disbelieving, wanting to bloody die because there's fuck-all one can do with freaking eight bucks and without money to spend life ain't worth living. OMG. I tried desperately to recall just what the hell I spent my money on between the end of September and now that needed $300 to be completely squandered, but save for that red Esprit top I bought recently and some movie tickets and the Ringside CD I ebayed, my mind drew a complete blank.
This is SO. COMPLETELY. BAD. And I think I lost a $50 my mom gave me earlier this week. I thought I chucked it in my black tote but I dug around for it when I discovered that I only have $8 to "fall back" on if I'm ever out of cash and I totally couldn't find it. And I've stopped saving the remains of my weekly allowance because I'm too lazy to take the money out of my wallet and stuff it in my pencil case (that never leaves my table). I need a job. I need a freaking rich boyfriend. I need...I need money. I want to buy books. I haven't bought a book in the longest time. I need to buy clothes. I can't go shopping. Oh my god, what kind of life would I be leading if I can't go shopping? Shit. I'm so devastated. And I haven't even bought the Stereophonics CDs I want (the studio album with Dakota - I can never remember the order of the words 'sex language violence other?'; and the Live from Dakota CD because I LOVE LOVE LOVE the live version of Dakota, which I listened to on their MySpace). I hate myself and my laziness which prevents me from getting a job which prevents me from having money and I hate my inability to manage my excruciatingly limited finances and my impulse to spend first, think later. Stupid, stupid Yelen.
I really miss Khai a lot right now. There are so many things I want to tell her, and this urge came completely out of nowhere. Somehow, I just know she'll understand. I still wish things were like before, like last year, like in JC, before everything happened and...I don't know, shit. I don't know. We don't try hard enough. I think we should try harder.
I need my driving licence. The thrill of going 120 on a 90 road has yet to be tested, but I'm already getting a kick out of driving close to the speed limit on a 70 road. I think I get the appeal of manual transmission cars: You're in control of the vehicle, the gear shift works because you know what you're doing, and it's about knowing, without a doubt, what you want to do. I wish I had some form of affinity with vehicles and mechanics-related crap, but I don't, and apparently I'm freaking slow at moving off, but all the same, if I were a guy, or if I were more in tuned with how these things work, I'd probably want to drive a manual car.
And I really freaking need my licence 'cause taking a cab home at night ain't fun, and neither is waiting for a freaking bus that takes forever to arrive. Stupid public transport. And uh, I have nothing against cabbies. They're good people. Generally, that is.
I've spent almost two hours on this entry. I think I ought to go attempt to get some studying done. I hate studying with all my heart and soul.