Insomniac ramblings (again)
Wouldn't you think that a month long flu (and a whole lot of side effects) would enable you to sleep? No such luck.
I am surfing on a giant wave of guilt, pushed towards me by the powers of Mum during the Lunar New Year holidays. It'll probably last another two weeks; mother guilt waves don't die out so easily.
Blood type As hold grudges for the longest time. Things that blood type Bs can't even remember. Blood type Os forgive but don't forget, and blood type ABs just don't give a damn.
Saw Stranger than Fiction. My life would be much more interesting if it was narrated by Emma Thompson. And more productive if I had Queen Latifah as an assistant. Or so I would like to think.
When I first decided to move here to the Wuthering Flatlands, one of the things that people mentioned (and were concerned about) were all those unsolved cases of women gone missing, the serial murders portrayed in the film Memories of Murder. The infamous district where the murders were committed is right next by. Most of the murders occurred decades ago, so I wasn't particularly worried.
Reality only dawned on me when I first visited the neighborhood bank. Posters of 'missing' women plastered an entire wall. The dates were quite recent. And the number kept on increasing.
Then a few days ago, serial killer caught. The number of the women on those posters will now diminish; their bodies are being found one by one.
I have to renew my driver's license. I haven't driven in years. Living in the middle of nowhere, I have to walk 3 km to the train station and 3.2 km for the bus stop. (I say it's the only form of exercise I get.) I have no intention of getting a car. Not yet. But I do have to renew that license.
There are days when my thoughts flow freely, there are days when my thoughts are linked by endless cliches. Today is definitely the latter.
What in the world is happening to my number one man on my Top 5 list? (Yes, that list.) Please let it be a mockumentary. Please oh please oh please.
I can hear the dump trucks coming in. Which means it's officially morning. Drat.
I am surfing on a giant wave of guilt, pushed towards me by the powers of Mum during the Lunar New Year holidays. It'll probably last another two weeks; mother guilt waves don't die out so easily.
Blood type As hold grudges for the longest time. Things that blood type Bs can't even remember. Blood type Os forgive but don't forget, and blood type ABs just don't give a damn.
Saw Stranger than Fiction. My life would be much more interesting if it was narrated by Emma Thompson. And more productive if I had Queen Latifah as an assistant. Or so I would like to think.
When I first decided to move here to the Wuthering Flatlands, one of the things that people mentioned (and were concerned about) were all those unsolved cases of women gone missing, the serial murders portrayed in the film Memories of Murder. The infamous district where the murders were committed is right next by. Most of the murders occurred decades ago, so I wasn't particularly worried.
Reality only dawned on me when I first visited the neighborhood bank. Posters of 'missing' women plastered an entire wall. The dates were quite recent. And the number kept on increasing.
Then a few days ago, serial killer caught. The number of the women on those posters will now diminish; their bodies are being found one by one.
I have to renew my driver's license. I haven't driven in years. Living in the middle of nowhere, I have to walk 3 km to the train station and 3.2 km for the bus stop. (I say it's the only form of exercise I get.) I have no intention of getting a car. Not yet. But I do have to renew that license.
There are days when my thoughts flow freely, there are days when my thoughts are linked by endless cliches. Today is definitely the latter.
What in the world is happening to my number one man on my Top 5 list? (Yes, that list.) Please let it be a mockumentary. Please oh please oh please.
I can hear the dump trucks coming in. Which means it's officially morning. Drat.