[C'EST MOI]
living paradox. individualist with anarchistic tendencies.
eludes eminence but appreciates subtle recognition.
capricious yet dependable. clandestine and unfathomable.
cynical realist who succumbs to the occasional idealism.
[J'AIME]
music. films. feasting & drinking. team sports.
good company; family, friends and those who share similar interests.
Lest the MOM comes after me for verbal assault on domestic help, I'm really just talking to myself, about myself.
The weekend is like my nemesis, almost as much as is my coming home. It's such an intense affair of love and hate, I can't really decide if I'd rather do with or without it.
You see, at the stroke of midnight on Friday, or basically, the moment I set foot into my house, my getup of presentable chic-ness is reduced to rags. I become the Cinderella of Hougang. The 5 days of looking normal diminishes into a faint memory. My cheerful spirit is knocked left, right and centre as I enter and am greeted by a house (5-room flat with upstairs and downstairs, mind you) of clutter, mess and absolute horror. H-O-R-R-O-R.
I cannot bear to describe what I see for the sake of my poor heart.
I have become so accustommed to living alone with my own neat (literally) space, I cannot imagine moving home this May. Even if it is only for 3 months. The thought of living in the midst of a grubby mess is worse than taking up a Fear Factor challenge. I'm worried about how am I even going to breathe if one day, the towers of newspapers decide to cave in on me? *shrudder*
So anyway, while I'm appreciative that I get to 'book out' of the boring campus every weekend (neat but boring... can't get the best of both worlds, sadly), I have to face a whole load of chores when I get back. What's a weekend without time to relax? Crap right? So I take it out on my appetite and start to eat for comfort. Not a very good outlet for distress when you have tons of junk food stocked up (because good meals are seldom prepared), a sofa and a tv.
Another worry just crept in when I think about the 3 months at home.
I might become fat, flabby and unhealthy.
NOoooooooo.... it would cost too much to change my wardrobe if I found that I no longer fit into any of my clothes! For the sake of my bank account, I must control my hand, food and mouth disease before it's too late.
*slumps into the sofa*
Maybe later. I'm exhausted from doing the laundry and shoveling a path among the newspapers.
[Time of Confession] 1:57 PM 0 Wisecracks for Me
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