I need a shrink

I needed a new distraction. It was Tuesday. 2.23am. I text an old flame. (well maybe its not distraction, I seek but more of being called a heinous bitch or an egocentric whore, hours b4 I head to work.) I never did expect him to reply (ok... so maybe a teeny weeny bit of me was hoping he'll reply cause I wouldn't have wasted ma time texting in the 1st place) but he did. And he rang.

Judging from the way things ended almost a year before, I was half-expecting a full frontal verbal barrage of profanity. But that didn't happen. We talked till 5. Then he said, "It is but it never was." before saying our goodbyes. I never need to ask him what he meant. I've never had a problem deciphering any of his one-liners before and he understood all of mine.

That was, to me, one of the most beautiful ending to a conversation.

"What if you stayed this time?"

"I walked out the door. There's no memories left."

"Come back and make up a goodbye, at least. Let's pretend we had one."

-Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind-

I ain't got nothing on me

Here's an excerpt of ma conversation with one of ma favorite male. (With minor adjustments, of course)

Bugger off!!!! says:
and theres MY ego.

Bugger off!!!! says:
my ego is generally very flexible.

Bugger off!!!! says:
you could say my ego is a thinking man's ego.

DiLa says:
a thinking ego?

Bugger off!!!! says:
because, i WOULD stop to ask for directions.

Bugger off!!!! says:
if i was lost.

Bugger off!!!! says:
i dunno if that makes any sense.

DiLa says:
yea. u would ask for direction

Bugger off!!!! says:
but then, i could be wrong.

DiLa says:
after being more den 100km off the road

Bugger off!!!! says:
not that far off.

Bugger off!!!! says:
maybe 5 km.

DiLa says:
hahaha

Bugger off!!!! says:
but honestly, if you dont ask directions, then you're lost.

Bugger off!!!! says:
er..

DiLa says:
u are already lost b4 u start asking for directions

Bugger off!!!! says:
ok, now im lost. what're we talking about again?

Okay my point is.... No wait. There's no point. I just felt like putting that up.

If this ain't a sign.

Here's a thought. How do you tell someone to be here just so you could ask him to leave? And how do you ask him to leave when just last week, he was the only person with whom you are willing to jump in between the sheets with? (Read this in any manner you'd prefer)

So being fickle was made legal for someone as tender as me. And it has apparently made me top the list of "100 most loathed-and-thus-you-should-kill people" No difference made. I'm almost dead, anyway.

Almost, since it still hurts.

So back to my question. Simple, says Mir. Just disappear. I would. But then again, that would have caused a dent in my already broken conscience. (I don't remember having one but I reckon that the guilt feeling I've been harboring is indeed ma conscience speaking.)

I've been marred, lately I realized (with disdain horror, may I add), by my own impetuous tendencies to not be dependent. To not say help. To not say please. I must've followed the wrong recipe. Too much salt added to the wounds.

Now, why didn't anybody kill me earlier?

Strange, but even when you know it has to end, and when it finally does, you always get that inevitable twinge: Have I done the right thing?

Dear you,

As of today, I've ceased being your door mat.

Truly,
Me.

H-U-R-T

I think I'm bruised. But I'm never quite sure.

How hurt is hurt?

And if only fools fall in love

Gladly I'd play that fool for you.

You tell me.

I left ma manners under ma covers at home yesterday and stirred up quite a brew, causing one of ma victim to brandish a magnificent uproar of hysterics. On me.

Naturally, I'm a fucktard. But yet, no one seemed to have realized it sooner. And that made me wonder, how good a pretender am I really?

Me, defined.

The songs in ma WinMp pretty much define me. Should I arrange them by the dates in which the files were acquired, I'll get a chronological sequence of events depicting ma life. Segregating them in accordance to their genres, would be like churning a statistical report on ma mood variations and frequencies. (Hard-core rock wins, hands down.) So, like any other god-damn arsed reports, there's the findings. And a conclusion.

From the findings, I realized:

1. I'm a rock chick wannabe, judging from the plethoric songs in that genre.
2. I swear too much. It goes somewhere along the lines of, "Fuck the world. Fuck the universe. Fuck you.... fuck me..." THAT wasn't ma favorite song or anything.
3. I'm pretty much literal. "I think I'm dumb or maybe just happy..." Saved for 'un'-sober moments.

And hence, I conclude:

1. I'm a demented bitch. More often than I thought I was.

Oh well, what's new?

Till it hits you right between the eyes

If you don't know by now,
I guess you never will.

Ma Prerogative

Its a birthright, you know, to blame every other thing and everybody else but yourself.

Try it, if you haven't already.

You

Dancing on the kitchen tiles,
Yes you make my life worthwhile...
So I told you with a smile,
It's all about you.

A lost cause, indeedo.

The following was typed with ma tongue-firmly-in-cheek and teeth gyrating that poor tongue. Oh and hot coffee almost scalding that bitten tongue

I gave psychopaths a run for their money by being the most dreaded ex-girlfriend. I apparently stomp on ex-bfs ego and pride publically over the TV, Radio and billboards. And published pictures and and sex videos that would have put that dumb Hilton to shame.

Okay, so that wasn't entirely true. Paris Hilton ain't dumb. She's a heiress. And there isn't much billboards in Singapore either. So let's just add TVMobile as a platform of media for my whacko acts.

Unsurprisingly, I've since become one of the most hated women in blogging His-Sto-Ry. Hated by many. No. Let me correct that. Hated by a SINGULAR person with many pseudonyms.

Gawd.... it must be tiring having so many alter-egos. And how do you even remember all those names?

But I reckon it must've be fun naming ur alter-egos. You could get as contradicting as you like. For instance, you could commit blasphemy and name urself after Pope (or Priest?) and go on a verbal barrage of profanities. Or you could leave a whole chunk of indecipherable paragraphs on comments or feedbacks and leave a name like Absolute Space (or everything Zen?).

I could go on all night but since stalking ex-bfs and creating attention for myself consumed half of my time, (work and sleep takes up the other half. And I beg for a quarter of a century more to memorise all numbers in my phonebook.) I shall end here. Meantime, check underneath your bed. You might see me there.