london bridge is falling down
And now I sit in my bright and sunny room drinking red bean soya bean milk (which tastes delightful by the way) and contemplate the general meaning of my life. I have wasted exactly two hours and thirty-five minutes since I woke up at seven thirty-four.
It's always the little things that get to you. When big things happen I'm always calm and collected but when small things happen (no more milk in the fridge) I'll let out a ballistic scream and drop to the floor twitching sporadically.
What I don't see I don't know. I have no idea what's in the cup, who has used it before, whether it's been washed or not but it doesn't matter once I close my eyes and gulp the contents down. It tastes vaguely like milk and that's fine. Who cares about the small white things floating on top? Keep my eyes on the screen and it'll be fine.
It's a headache to be given useless gifts. I stare at these two little porcelain containers on my table that for the life of me I couldn't figure out what for. They look pretty, yes in that special antique kind of way but I have absolutely no idea what to do with them. For some time I thought perhaps they are used for holding tea but then what are those little lids doing on top? You don't see a teacup with lids. Then I thought maybe they are mini versions of those kind of rice pots but they are slightly more intricate and elaborate than rice pots. At last I accept that maybe they're just there for aesthetic pleasures but they are of the wrong shape. Items on display must either have a very special shape or a very convenient shape. They are fat and not exactly small and have you ever seen a teacup/rice pot-look-alike being used as a display?
Always I feel I am teetering dangerously on the edge of consciousness. My upper and lower eyelids feel like magnets and I have to constantly apply a force to pull them apart. My mind is a misty foggy swamp with black ominous bubbles breaking the stale surface from time to time.
I cannot live without milk.
曾经沧海难为水，
除却巫山不是云，
取次花丛懒回顾，
半缘修道半缘君。
终日昏昏醉梦间，
忽闻春尽强登山，
因过竹院逢僧话，
又得浮生半日闲。
It's always the little things that get to you. When big things happen I'm always calm and collected but when small things happen (no more milk in the fridge) I'll let out a ballistic scream and drop to the floor twitching sporadically.
What I don't see I don't know. I have no idea what's in the cup, who has used it before, whether it's been washed or not but it doesn't matter once I close my eyes and gulp the contents down. It tastes vaguely like milk and that's fine. Who cares about the small white things floating on top? Keep my eyes on the screen and it'll be fine.
It's a headache to be given useless gifts. I stare at these two little porcelain containers on my table that for the life of me I couldn't figure out what for. They look pretty, yes in that special antique kind of way but I have absolutely no idea what to do with them. For some time I thought perhaps they are used for holding tea but then what are those little lids doing on top? You don't see a teacup with lids. Then I thought maybe they are mini versions of those kind of rice pots but they are slightly more intricate and elaborate than rice pots. At last I accept that maybe they're just there for aesthetic pleasures but they are of the wrong shape. Items on display must either have a very special shape or a very convenient shape. They are fat and not exactly small and have you ever seen a teacup/rice pot-look-alike being used as a display?
Always I feel I am teetering dangerously on the edge of consciousness. My upper and lower eyelids feel like magnets and I have to constantly apply a force to pull them apart. My mind is a misty foggy swamp with black ominous bubbles breaking the stale surface from time to time.
I cannot live without milk.
曾经沧海难为水，
除却巫山不是云，
取次花丛懒回顾，
半缘修道半缘君。
终日昏昏醉梦间，
忽闻春尽强登山，
因过竹院逢僧话，
又得浮生半日闲。