Showing posts from July, 2008


I don't feel like working this afternoon and because I believe in democracy, I'm not going to. Instead I am posted up on my bed, guiltlessly surfing the internet and wondering if I'll ever grow up enough to not be at the mercy of my whims.

Ah, some day.

Instead let me share some more of my incessant collection of depressing poetry while I ponder my fate.

This one's profoundly entitled,


Enveloped in the darkness of night
Nothing but the sound of the rotating fan and intermittent traffic
To permeate the dinning in my head
The intense beating of my heart
It hurts
As though it could jump right out of my chest and pulse before me
Bloody and bulging

Enveloped in the darkness of night
The rickety fan creating a chill in the room
I hear myself breathe
Slow and measured
Sucking in gulps of air
As if to remind myself, that I'm not dead.
I'm just...
Enveloped in the darkness of night.

July 11, 2008

Cheery, huh?

So I can barely walk.

In an incredibly wise move during a Sunday afternoon game of touch, I completely misread the distance between myself and a brick wall and yep, you guessed it, ran smack into, almost dislodging my knees in the process. There was blood. Bruised bones. And this morning, an old lady overtook me on the sidewalk as I waddled along like a retarded constipated cripple. The usual 5 minute stroll to my office taking me no less than twenty minutes.

Yes, they don't call me Serevi for nothing.

Aside from over estimating my athletic abilities, this weekend has been productive. My ruse of thesis is finally materialising into a document I wouldn't cringe to put my name on. Thank you Jesus. It was relatively painless once I got over that bout of lazy-shitedness I had. Really, I should credit the advice of a great friend who wrote to me in response to my insistence that I was meditating and praying to the Gods of Good Writing to grant me an epiphany:

"no wonder your thesis is dragging ass…

Coz we all need one, sometimes.



shift your focus woman
from being perceived
and how you perceive
and just perceive
the glorious richness
to infiltrate your senses
the curves
the pungent
the stark
the warmth
the big picture
shift your focus

Post 300

Thank God for Small Victories

Finishing off the last of ten hours and days worth of interview and focus group transcripts and chunks of the analysis.Receiving a copy of your published book chapter in the mail.Running eleven laps after barely making 8 the day before.
Beautiful weather.

Pray to God for help in Small Challenges

Quality writing in the remaining 50 pages of your thesis and maintain your sanity.Doing above point in prescribed deadline of two weeks and maintain your sanity.Notice the beautiful weather.Maintain your sanity.

Panic Haiku


Stressed out.

Deadlines closing in.

Pissy at nothing and everything.

Snappy. Retorts. Sleepless. Bored. Angry. Stressssed.

False sense of confidence. Vapourised.

LOTS of work undone.

D a m n i t.



"We're gonna make it."

Look into my oyes...

Now send me money! lol

Mindless chatter

It's the first Sunday of July. The word that comes to mind is - Already?! Been on the blog a fair bit lately, which of course, only means I have lots of "real" work piling while I prioritize talk about far more important things like mediocre attempts at poetry, my alcohol tolerance, and feeling fat. On the up side of life my fiber levels are stupendously high now so NOW I only have to quit drinking and then my tummy aches will disappear completely!

So lately my alcohol tolerance has kind of gone to the dogs. It's to my shameful dismay when I find myself feeling woozy after the second glass, as of recent. This is quite unsettling given the self deduced fact that only my entire identity evolves around my drinking. I'm usually more of a second bottle of Jack kind of gal. Or second half of the night. Never second drink. Even when I first started drinking as a teen, eagerly devouring cheap vodka with Fanta as my ticket to acceptance in high school cliques, even th…

Memoir of a Tongan Lady

The soft wrinkles on her face creased gently as she spoke, personifying her wisdom. Her eyes glinted and she paused intermittently to stop herself from bursting into laughter as she told the story of her younger days. Her voice was deep and strong with a firm British Tongan accent about it.

Sister Pele was a nun, but I never called her sister. And she was a full nun with the uniform and everything, but oh the conversations we had... she was so funny. One evening, we were in the dining hall, I think the dining hall at USP is still the same today as it was back then in 1991, so we were eating when one boy walked in. He was quite handsome. We both looked shyly over as we ate our food, pretending not to notice him. I said to her "Pele, he's handsome. You should fix him." Pele turned to me and said "I know, he is. You should fix him for me." We both laughed and laughed to ourselves.

Ah, Pele. I always liked her because even though she's a nun. She's not a…