a gin and tonic, please
this happened last week when i was in the shower.
amos: what are you doing?
me: bathing.
amos: can i look?
me: no, go watch tv.
amos: orh.
i came out to see him watching doraemon and i thought the whole thing was hilarious, as if he was just being quite innocently curious.
or it could be the residual alcohol from the night before, because for once i managed to laugh all of his sister’s hostile questions and remarks off when usually i would be feeling hurt and offended. i then thought that perhaps i should always have a pint first before heading to his place. i think being high and feeling invincible beats being hurt.
the memory palace
came across the memory palace by christie dickason while rearranging my book cabinet, and i paused to read again the most memorable, and poignant scene in the work. philip wentworth, an aging sojourner, married a pregnant zeal to save her from condemnation. zeal was still very much in love with the exiled man, the father of the unborn child, but philip took her in. the love between them grew as they began to know each other more. the night that zeal could tell philip that she loved him, and say it truthfully, was the night that philip died.
the story itself was not impressive, but that particular scene is tender and touching. i think particularly of amos. our age difference is not as vast as the fictional philip and zeal, but amos is a fair bit older, with white hair, with a lot of medical conditions i wish he didn’t have. i live in the morbid fear that i will have to outlive him, and consequently i have rather hoped that we could perhaps die together in a freak accident of some sort, else i’d be selfish and hope to leave him behind. or perhaps if he leaves me then i will waste away and die of grief within the week. (thinking about it i think the dr might put the cause of death as overeating).
will need to stop being morbid.
i think i have got an infected eye. it is red, itchy and irritating, and i keep tearing. i’ve been tearing since sunday. it is not pleasant at all, i think i shall have to go to a doctor. gah!
belly for the goods
after tomorrow i’d have met most of my friends…with the exception of rose, which im rather sad about because out of all my friends she’s the one i talked to the most when i was in the uk. strange that she’s also the one whom i least hang out with haha. rosemary if you read this i demand to skype you even if you’re too busy to meet up hahaha.
i had a very satisfying dinner with amos just now. zichar! and chilli crab. for some reason i kept thinking about crab, and voila the zichar stall sold crab. i never enjoyed crab much in the past because the method of slaughter was a nightmare and i usually boycott the dish, but today i had an urge. (i succeeded being vegetarian in the uk for some weeks..then for some reason i leapt to the other extreme and became carnivorous. perhaps another trip to the zoo would remind me about not being cruel to animals…) and the eggplant! i want to go back to eat eggplants:)
the best of suicides
‘Roman writer Petronius Arbiter…fell out of the emperor [Nero's] favour. To forestall arrest and execution, he took his own life in an appropriately tasteful fashion, slitting his veins and then having them bound up again to ensure a slow and easeful death. As his life gradually drained away, he pecked at dainty dishes, listened to music, and chatted with friends on untroubling subjects. He finally lay down as if to sleep, and so met his end.’
-from Ian Crofton’s History Without The Boring Bits
what a way to die! it is an inspiration beyond no other. how poetic and laudable.
reading pg wodehouse
i used to laugh out loud at the antics of bertie wooster, but this time around i feel only mildly entertained. have i, along the years, lost my ability to laugh? not even very long years, at that, how pathetic. i feel like reading a murder mystery…if it doesn’t rain later i should probably nip by the library for a poirot.
