Fuck this

Things to do, too many in fact that I feel almost like the person I was- busy yet fulfilled. I like this fuss, but I wish I can get down to what constitutes it swifter, slighter, and be gone with defenses.

I can't write now. There's nothing I can say. Nothing but mistakes will be mistakes.

1. My current wander: a food novella that looks more mere than it reads
2. Supper while staying over at Joanne's

3. A Marks and Spencers Christmas hamper from our new neighbours, David and Theodora, a young (and very extravagant I presume, from the manner they are renovating their house) couple
4. I am very disappointed in you, all of you

5. On Sunday when I was left alone in room 646 from morning to night;
6. then I had a magazine, mini chocolate cake, earl grey with one white, and flu from the night before

7. Same Sunday: two beef stews at Jacob's Cafe, lychee martini and cosmopolitan at Vau with Leon and stolen acapella music
8. The extended part of my room, where I can't wait to get my staying brothers out.

When I post like that you know I have nary I can articulate now. I don't know what to think anymore.