call me emo

I know that very often when I have to talk to people I occupy the same mental space as when I sleep. The ideas just all rush in and cause a fat jam in front of the filter between my mouth and my brain. The result is that I take a long time to say anything, and that I never say anything useful. What doesn't make it better is that I don't like to tell other people what they should do, or even to mind their own business (it's my problem if I wanna jump into the pool in pink trousers and a loofah in each hand) which means that the more self-righteous blithely steamroller the conversation and my identity at once (without realising it too, bless them). What makes it even better yet is that I don't like making conversation in school, for several unreasonable reasons. And school, apart from the private life I have every sunday or sommat with my very small circle of old friends, is all the social life I really get. Bad for tongue-exercise, and WHY THE HELL am I feeling so sleepy all the time when my burden is obviously not the most disgustingly heavy of all the overworked people I know? Doesn't do much for my speaking prowess. And I have this nasty urge to get up and wander aimlessly about when there's work to do. Being sick on Chinese New Year but still forced to go visiting also meant that on top of all this, my cousins must now all think I'm this stuck-up misfit doodling miserably at the table while they were all in one room playing Risk. I don't know why I'm not feeling good, because I'm lucky not to be dead yet and fully supplied with food, arms and legs -- among other things. But I'm not feeling good. Empty gnawing feeling and all that.

Part of it is the Kelly thingy. See she and I were bidding for Pong's extra-special A-class ticket for the Phantom performance on the last day of March. I don't really like bidding, and although I didn't mind going to see the show I didn't really mind NOT going either: the meagre collections from this year's hongbao money rather made the decision for me actually. So I told Pong that I was going to put up 10 cents more of whatever she bids. This is the sort of thing the really skanky people do on e-bay, yes. But obviously Kelly thought I was serious about it and, after further SMS prodding in which I unleashed the deadly Smiley Face on her (smileys really infuriate certain people), she went and wrote a little article on her blog that showed that she was really pissed. Sigh. Never mind. Of course it was funny at first. But I guess there're some people you shouldn't play jokes on. And since I'm not very used to playing jokes on people, I probably did it very badly. Not nice to make a friend angry, especially if that friend is part of that very small circle of old friends that constitute the bulk of my social life at this point in time. Now I shall go drown my sorrows in orange juice and start working out syllogisms on the Great Gatsby. The Great Gatsby is so amazingly compact there is now way I can write a decent essay without sorting out all my ideas first. It's Pong who can do that kind of waffle. Without the usual exam adrenalin I need a good long think.

Speaking of dreams, last night I had one about my mother having died, and feeling fed up that she had died without passing on her m4d spare-rib c00king skillz to me before she had condescended to kick the bucket. I have no idea what having a dream like that means, but I feel rather guilty and uncomfortable.

Hopefully I will cheer up by monday, because XT informs me that when I'm sleepy/depressed I drip worse than a bugbear that's been pushed off the ice floe.

Kelly, if you read this, ignore the emo, all right?