rape...

Still being raped, but managed to sneak away from Work long enough to get a distress signal out.

Help.

review...

Semi-failure of birthday plans is okay, considering other things.

It's great to age. Or not. But the checkpoint for this lap is appearing to be a delightful one.

More updates when work threatens to rape me less.

retirement...

By now, most many people would have picked up the shovels and pickaxes and gone to work. Me, I'm still sludging, or slacking depending on who you ask, through many more mediocre classes and cloisters.

You know how many people say they want a job? Why do so few people just skip straight to the point and just say they want the money? Me, I'm not too interested in the work. Work is fine if you get to choose exactly what the hell you want to do and not have to worry about being fired. Like, you could open a restaurant and kick out patrons for being too bitchy or if they had piss-annoying kids.

The plan follows naturally that I should make my billion within the next 8 years or so, retire, and do things for sheer pleasure. Those people always seem the happiest and have the least of concerns. Delightful lifestyle, requires some luck and plenty of brains. I like to think I have the brains, so I have to hope for the luck.

I've been told my version of reality is extremely stupid, but I've also been told that an all-loving God willingly condemns a whole bunch of people to what is assumed to be a fiery hell. I've been told that prawns, mushrooms, and a whole lot of unsavoury things are delicacies. I've been told that hard work yields results. I've been told that we are born to procreate and die. I've been told to shut the fuck up. And all I've discovered that about 95% of the things we've been told, especially by those in the "know" are also mostly bull-fucking-shit.

So, screw reality, create your own. Take the blue pill. The one without the V.

stuck...

How would you go about handling intolerably dysfunctional people when they are of particular irreplaceable import with someone you care too much about to leave behind?

Happy moo year.

Twenty one years later, it just so happens that the embryonic lump becomes so much more and so much less.

Some things have been frustrating, others exciting.

Frustrated at the fact people would use religion as an answer for anything, but people have always been wont to flog off responsibilities to the whims of deities too self-absorbed to care.

Frustrated at the fact that money is necessary.

Frustrated at the fact that many people are not suited to be parents, yet insist on unprotected heterosexual intercourse.

Excited that some physical transitions are going along fine, albeit slowly.

Excited that travel can be adjusted along the linear path of the time-space continuum.

Excited that electronics usually have upgrades, that certain times provide discount vouchers, that sometimes the unaffordable become affordable.

The new year is just that: another fixed bracket of time that we choose to label such. Reality is that there's no real distinct separation point between our years. But when it allows things like periodic holidays, I guess I can have no real complaint.

Resolve to continue with physical transition, putting in progress at least three out of seven days.

Resolve to get past the limitations of money by getting a lot of it.

Resolve to bring things to a better level, at least where someone is concerned.

Resolve to come to terms with having another two years in something that is proving less and less fun as the years go by, just get it over with.

For the less smart (as you like to call yourself), here is a condensed, err, short version of the above:

Until now, still not good, not bad.

Some things fun, some things not fun.

Angry that some people so stupid and lazy.

Angry that I'm broke.

Angry that stupid people have children.

Happy I'm not so fat.

Happy that airline bookings can change.

Happy that got new iPod model, and got eBay voucher.

Err, blah. As long as got holiday, can.

Go to gym 3 days a week.

Become rich.

Be less fussy, have more fun.

Stop being so lazy.

is fat...

... in photos.

Always behind the camera for a reason.


Holidays are great. Even better if your back isn't charred. Even better yet if you aren't fat so you can don the skimpy. Or no donning at all. But when you have the cutaneous texture of citrus and the relative dimensions to match (all noticed in retrospect, of course), there's really nothing to be done.


A quick review of the current situation: very little money (not really in the big paying jobs now), going to be very lonely very soon (alone is nice if money is there, but usually when you have money you have these remorae stuck to your underside), very little to do (completing Oblivion for the sixth time now), and worst thing is the weather is going to scorch very soon.


Time to ramp up the gym routine, tone down the eat routine, run like a headless chicken, play a bit more of the M to the t to the G. And make more money somehow.


Lonely is great in a way that is not. And people not putting any effort into communicating strongly suggests that the relationship is dying, if not already dead.

latest updates...

News in short:

I might have food poisoning. Can't tell. Nothing in this apartment seems to be clean.

Unrelated news, finally dropped below 100 for the first time in about 10 years.

Exams have been over in a long while. Slacking about mostly.

Returning in mid January.