Things That May Seem Easy But Are Not Without A Thumb

1. Opening a sweet wrapper
2. Tying butterfly knots
3. Unclasping a bra (if you are a guy, poor you)
4. Snapping your fingers
5. Pressing the bus bell
6. Peeling a banana
7. Playing Christmas carols on the piano
   

Okay, fine, I admit that this is a really random picture which Raine took of an unsuspecting me, but I was playing Christmas carols then and I rarely look decent in candid shots, so please indulge me.
8. Making 3-in-1 Milo (the tricky part is tearing the sachet open)
9. Wearing your watch
10. SMS-ing a truckload of friends "Happy New Year!!"
    

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And oh, by the way, Happy 2009 to all of you out there. If you are reading this on New Year's Day, you are a poor sod - you should be out celebrating!

The worst emotion to feel at all,

is Guilt.

You told me once, that you weren't sure of how I would react if we ever met in the streets again. I never told you, but the despair was mutual.

Are you aware of how my heart pounds, for you?

I was playing with a Swiss Army knife today.

Flick up. Flick down. Up. Down. Looks shiny. Up. Down.

Ouch. Oooh, I'd cut myself. The red liquid bubbling out of my thumb evolved into thick, flowing blood.

I grabbed my arm and watched, half in awe, as the blood trickled down my wrist, to my arm, and spotted the clean tiles.

It wasn't about five minutes later of pacing and staring that I got some help with my wound (which was pretty deep no thanks to the sharp blade).

That's the irritating thing about me.

I knew to wash the wound. I knew to apply pressure on it to stop the bleeding. I was reciting those steps in my head. Instead, I was scrutinizing the gash on my thumb wondering if I should suck on it.

I know my theories, but I don't put them to practice. Am I considered a rational person then, having known the correct thing to do yet succumbing to my gut feeling eventually?

Because sometimes, not doing the right thing feels so liberal. But time and time again, I lose to this thing called rationality and pay the price for freedom.

I think that's the problem with us women. And what makes thinking with our hearts more difficult is the knowledge that it is wrong, but we do it anyway, just because.

No, I didn't suck on my thumb. Because I'd done it before and the rusty iron taste was absolutely horrid.

We all have to learn, somewhere, somehow.

Thick slices of sashimi.

10 km leisure jog.

Baking under the sun.

Techno music.

Christmas.

Recently, Scruffy developed some sores on his leg which spread to the other leg.

Worried by Wilson's exaggeration of medical bills and Ryan's stories about how his German shepherd got put down because of skin problems, I brought Scruffy to the vet, pronto.

The vet said it was nothing to worry about, gave Scruffy some medication, and then charged me a couple of hundred. (I really can't imagine when it turns out to be something to worry about). She also put him on a Buster, this funnel thing around his neck which stops him from gnawing at his wounds.

Since the Buster, Scruffy hasn't been the same dog. He's been moping around, making little whining noises and pawing at the plastic. (He's also been getting stuck under sofas and knocking into legs of furniture.)

The vet said to keep the Buster on for about two weeks. To help Scruffy get a speedy recovery, I wrote a poster and stuck it on the wall.

SCRUFFY'S DIET
- NO chicken and their bones
- NO salty foods
- NO junk food like honeystars (Sis) and biscuits (yes Daddy you)
- YES pork, lamb and beef and their bones

Then I wrote down some instructions for his medication. Get well soon, Scruff scruff!

You and a good friend make plans to meet but when you reach, he cancels.

You trust your group mates to do their jobs, but not only do they submit work late, they submit really crap work.

You join a friend for a movie she wants to watch but you are dumped right after it because she assumed that there wouldn't be any other plans and made some with her boyfriend instead.

You text your beau, hoping for some comfort, but 5 hours later, he and his comforting texts are nowhere to be found.

You simply can't count on anyone.

I'm sitting here. The snores thundering behind me. The word 'Victorious' still resonating after my defeat of the computer A.I.

It's 5.30 AM, and the only comforting company I have is the silent vibrating of the fan, whipping strands of hair across my face.

There's this corner that's always there, but tonight it feels eerie and isolated. What about the phone.. what should I do if it rings now, is it stupid to think that it would ring at this hour?

Tonight I hate stationery. The staple and the hole puncher suddenly seem to appear so strong and evil. Like they have something up their metal sleeves.

Maybe it's just me, I should get some sleep.

I drummed my fingers in slight annoyance.

He was picking apart his toast, and I watched impatiently as it disappeared into his mouth piece by piece.

"Come on, our time is up," I urged him to leave. Ever since those MRT countdown boards came up, they have been the boon and bane of time-sensitive people like myself. I had only allowed us to grab a quick bite because the board read "SEVEN MINUTES" to the next train ride.

He didn't answer.

I chose my words carefully. "You know, I don't think you would ever be affected by emergency situations." I recalled the times when we were running late and he would saunter behind me while I tottered ahead in my heels. Or when I phoned him to come pay for my cab fare and he would stroll to my cab, with me all embarrassed at not being able to pay my fare. OH - when he forgot his passport and despite being late, he just had to take a train home because it was "near".

"That's because you are being affected by them way too much," he replied, his calm demeanour feeding the rising impatience within me.

"Relax, darling."

He put his hands on my shoulders, and forced me to breathe slow.

"We've got all the time in the world."