My uncle passed away last week and father has left for hong kong, I wish i could hide myself inside his suitcase.

What I have been up to the past weekend

1. creating my own version of winter inside my bedroom, doing distribution and hypothesis testing practices
2. listening to kitsune noir mixtapes on speakers stolen from my brother
3. eating my weight in almonds and raisins while doing the above
4. watched up in the air and the beat that my heart skipped

I went to swim today! My hair smells of chlorine, how long have I not smelled chlorine? I am looking forward to no longer looking pale and ill with rings around my eyes after tomorrow

The pages on my Dickison text have been stained with coffee, spilled from the tumblr inside my bag.
I never realised the significance of her work until a few weeks ago. Maybe if I tried hard enough I can start passing my literature essays

928
The Heart has narrow Banks
It measures like the Sea
In mighty - unremiting Bass
And Blue Monotony

Till Hurricane bisect
And as itself discerns
Its insufficient Area
The Heart convulsive learns

That Calm is but a Wall
Of unattempted Gauze
An instant's Push demolishes
A Questioning - dissolves.

i need to remember to listen to these

dinosaur feathers
wild nothing
male bonding

"I used to think I couldn’t write without a scotch and a cigarette and one of the scariest things about quitting one then the other was the idea that I wouldn’t be able to write. Well, I quit and I write. That’s more about addiction than about writing. Then I thought I couldn’t write without my dog nearby, but my dog passed away and I still write. One day this summer I wrote in a room full of people in bathing suits cooking bacon. Not for long, though. How to get out of bed and get my coffee without waking up too much before I start writing is a big deal for me. I don’t like to eat until I’m incredibly hungry when I’m writing. I don’t write with music, but I don’t mind ambient sound. I like to be near a window with not a lot going on outside. My current study has a window that is completely filled with hedge and sometimes birds poke around in it. Perfect.

I don’t write every day. I wait until I can’t bear it and then I write, or I write because I can’t wait to write, or I write because there are nuts I want to crack. I was a kid who made ice cream last. I don’t believe in letting writing time be agony. I don’t believe in letting insomnia get me, either. I get up or I take a pill, no thrashing around. The bed needs to be a beautiful place, and the desk does, too. If writing is some kind of agony, I should get over myself and do something nice for the neighborhood. I do ritualize everything, though. I need to because of whatever kind of brain I have. So whatever my writing situation is, I ritualize it, I’m just learning that I can make a ritual out of anything, and it’s not the ritual so much as the ritualizing: making some kind of rhythm in a way that makes something some kind of sacred.."

lucy corin, from royal quiet deluxe.

a happy place

t.h. murphy

this is the sea i miss

cha.

miss v

Rare moments like these I can breathe a sigh of relief. Sitting outside Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf, fingers still slightly cold from the chill inside the cafe.

I spent the afternoon with a schoolmate I have not met in years. (It seems like I have been doing a fair bit of catching up with old friends.) We sat mostly in silence doing our work, occasionally discussing about school and the people we used to know. I do miss her - she is one of those people that I could let my self go easily, although now the years have passed and its never quite the same. She still looks the same way as she did 6 years ago (and i must have looked the same to her as well. She asked, "do you trim your own bangs? You've been maintaining it for years"), but studying in private school has left her with a slight american drawl.

I grew sick of the sugar-laden, too-dense drinks from these cafés. Today I had a warm cup of vanilla ceylon tea for a change and it was light, pleasantly aromatic and kept me sufficiently warm. I bought some golden raisins from the grocer that looked extremely juicy, so that was what became of my snack of the day.

A few days ago I attempted to do run in the blazing three o'clock sun. It left me with a pounding headache exacerbated by my gum infection. I was reduced to a irritable heap curled up in bed in pain after that, with so much self-loathing festering within me (it still is), which I have concealed under layers of acerbity directed unfortunately to the people I care most about.

It has been close to a month since i last had any intensive exercise, and everyday I look in the mirror with fear. The way things have developed proved to be strangely unsettling - the run I was supposed to do last sunday never happened because of the rain. Another 10km in december has been forgone due to travel plans. And the one this weekend looks unlikely given my current physical condition. Does this spell the end of my running routine? I can't remember when it turned from a joyful experience to one which resounded with fear and self-hatred and guilt

kaitlin van de baarl
I'm so angry I want nothing to do with this project any more I just want to remember why the arab nation's aggression led to the middle east conflict and all the names of islamic fundamentalist groups and united nation security council task forces so I can write an essay tomorrow

I want to throw up / I want to hide in the big open

-

Mother just called me over to the couch for a sit-down, and told me in a very sombre tone "I'm just glad that you can go back to school and read like you used to"
Well it is true. despair is so overrated. I might go to bed now.

13 minutes

The good news is, I sleep at twelve and wake up at five-thirty and I feel less like a wreck. In early mornings I lie very still and close my eyes and think of the vast victoria harbour, a dark red junk floating on blue green waves ebbing, the skyline is shrouded in a light fog. The silence is deafening but I am safe behind glass windows up twelve stories. Some mornings the sunlight is golden, it falls on the glass coffee table and forms rainbows on the soft heather carpet beneath my feet

I spent about seven hours in starbucks today, drinking green tea lattes and soy banana muffins and feeling for once in control. The post-its on my laptop remind me of things I have not done, and I realise so much of my unhappiness stems from all these inordinate expectations. Whose expectations? I don't know any more. I would be happy to dispense with them and live a simple life. I thought I would have known better after all that has happened, but maybe i shouldn't expect this of myself either

I took a walk down to the deli at the evening hour, by the long way through the residential area. There is a buddhist temple on the way and I remembered the last time I was there and other things. As I was walking I spotted a lady in an orange garb from afar. For a moment I thought she was a nun heading towards the temple, but when I caught up with her after turning the corner I saw her walk into one of the condominiums and open the door into the security guard house. It was very absurd, because fleetingly I was quite certain of what she was, and yet it turned out otherwise.

I have been on pinterest for hours on end! Such a bad time