Heartbeat

Houston, we have a problem.

It is 11.39 pm. I have just eaten toast and had a cup of coffee. My roommate's asleep, I wince every time I cause some sort of noise. I have a whole bunch of documents open, the outline for an audit assignment, the meager beginnings of a french script for a short film, readings on going concern issues and auditing standards. I have a half-eaten chocolate egg sitting on my table, it's pretty big. I haven't done my EPM homework, I haven't studied french, I haven't proof-read the outline, I haven't I haven't I haven't. It's my own fault though, it seems as if for the moment I've lost momentum, and I can't be bothered with things. To use a profanity, I can't be fucked.

Sometimes my heart wells up with things, things that I think are important, things that I think are superficial, things that are perhaps meaningless. And I think about how we all do this, our hearts all well up with different things, and I like that. Somehow it's comforting to know that everyone, even the people I can't stand, or the people that intimidate me, or the random person standing at the corner, have this menagerie of thoughts and longings and feelings that are too complex to be deciphered.

I love listening to Dhiyanah talk about art. She knows what she wants to do, she is innately passionate about it, she wants to revolutionize the Malaysian art scene. She talks wistfully about places like Abu Dhabi, and she has a moleskin she carries around half-filled with sketches and random drawings. Her route is so refreshingly different from my own.

Life is muted
Life's on hold
Life goes on
I'm getting old
And can't be arsed to do my work
I'd rather find out what is Plurk
Well, not really.
I just said that so it'd rhyme
And I could waste even more time
Writing this.

Nak makan pengat durian lah. Serious.