This urge

I don't know about other blog writers. But when i re-read my old posts, this intensely strong urge to delete every single one of them, for lack of originality, overt-sentimentalism, wrong grammar or pure bad writing, bubbles up and threatens to spill into action.
Therefore i no longer read my old posts.

There is no title worthy

I have no more distinctness or pointedness in my yearnings than an expanded bud, which does indeed point to flower and fruit, to summer and autumn, but is aware of the warm sun and spring influence only. I feel ripe for something, yet do nothing, can't discover what that thing is. I feel fertile merely. It is seedtime with me. I have lain fallow long enough.

Notwithstanding a sense of unworthiness which possesses me, not without reason, notwithstanding that I regard myself as a good deal of a scamp, yet for the most part the spirit of the universe is unaccountably kind to me, and I enjoy perhaps an unusual share of happiness."

---Henry David Thoreau, Age 33, Journal Entry for November 16, 1850.

Why I haven't posted in 2 months.

too busy having fun.

Turned 30

Turned 30 in an aerobed lying on the wooden floor of a Sunday school classroom in a beautiful and peaceful southern Baptist church in Texas.
Resolve to continue acting like a 12 year old boy as often and as long as possible.

if i were a book

I know that there are people who really protect their books, wrap em up in covers and treat them with the utmost care. But I don't. Because if i were a book, i would want to be so intriguing that I'd be brought everywhere, including the bath and toilet, because the reader can't put me down, be read and re-read and re-read countless times, and be dropped on the floor as the reader reluctantly gives in to sleep.
I'd rather be dog-eared, stained, wrinkled, having given beyond my price, than to be spick and span and new-as-never-opened.

spring

Spring, air molecules tingling of hope and blooms,
temperamental temperatures and rain.
w00t!
Is that a haiku?
I just need to post something because i don't want that depressing previous post to be on top forever.
I went cycling (or biking as they call it here. Back home, biking means naik mototsikal) today, scouting out a non busy route that will facilitate my ambition to cycle 14 miles to work 3x a week, because petrol (or gas as it's known here, though i could not understand why - it's a liquid, not a gas, nor solid, nor plasma) is $4 per gallon, and while it took only $28 to fill up an empty tank on my little chevvy 3 months ago, now it takes $48.. Plus, I'd been slowly working at that huge 1 gallon tube of cherry + chocolate fudge premium strictly high fat ice cream in my freezer, and replacing badminton with piano concerts for the past 3 weeks.
Thoughts that ran through my head as I was biking:

1. This looks like Anne Shirley's house! (Passing by an absolutely charming house with what could pass as a gurgling brook, and weeping willows by the brook)

2. Hell, yeah brother! (Passing by a house with a huge sign outside that says "Impeach Bush". Though it sure looks like a very Republican house to me, with trucks and butterflies pinned on a board in the living room. Why do I connect red-neckedness to Republicans. Oh wait, that's an oxymoron.)

3. This is a very nice spot to take pictures! (Passing by a little circular clearing beside the road, surrounded by thick trees, covered by fresh baby green grass, the evening sunlight streamin through the trees, gently blanketing the grass, with the coolest stump of a tree at the centre of the clearing. wait, now it sounds like a good spot for some mischievous witches to cook up some magical potions on a night of the full moon too)

and... that was about it. All i could remember from the 30 minute ride. Again, confirmation that nothing much goes on in this brain of mine.

and to end on a graceful note, this picture that I took.


Tulips are everywhere now. I wish my mom and dad could come see them. They are absolutely gorgeous.

I know that I need to move on.
But somethings are just so hard to let go.
I try and I try, to see the fact the my world and my life is so much bigger
than my supposedly fleeting sorrow,
but I'm like an overloaded bucket of tears,
cracked and hurting,
and not knowing if things will ever be alright again.

Kalamazoo on Jan 14th 2008 aka Western Michigan's Winter at its.. norm

Woke up at 700am. Laze for 15 minutes. Hot Hot Shower. Dumped 3-5cookies in maw. Drank glass of tap water (filtered, mom). Got out of apartment. Sees this.

No. 20 consecutive days of Car-Eaten-Alive-by-Overnight-Snow when you're late for work is not fun. Hence on Snow will be known as The S that must not be named. Or, as known by close friends and family, S.

It was probably about 15F.

Close up view of my blue baby (blue as in blue from the cold..get it? he..he...snort. Maybe not)

Gingerly walked across S covered pavement. Luckily there was no layer of ice (S's evil twin) down there. Stepped next to car. Looks down. hm.. we have about 6 inches today. Notice left foot completely drowned by S.

Started engine, and switched on the heater line thingies for heating the back windshield. Got out of car with essential weapon of choice - this stick that you see above, placed approximately 60 degrees to the windshield. It is about 2 feet tall (there're smaller or bigger versions of it too), with a few rows of brush at one end, and a hard flat surface perpendicular to the axis of the shaft at the other end. The brush is use for brushing off S from your car, or body if you choose to. The flat end is for scraping ice off windows and windshields. Or for murdering cockroaches. It is, of course, as with all consumer products in USA, made in China.

Luckily the snow was fresh, and temperature didn't fluctuate much through the night. There was no ice that needed to be scraped off underneath the snow. Got done in about 10 minutes. Sat on drivers seat and proceeded to kick legs together to shake S off sneakers. used gloved hands to dust S from legs of pants. At that moment I finally understood the reason for existence of snow boots.

Apartment doesn't do a good job of cleaning the roads in the early am.

But the Kalamazoo Municipal council does. Some admirable driver in a tractor like vehicle had pushed most of the S off the road in the wee am. The rest of it were melted by liberal spraying of salt on the roads with an awesome salt sprayer truck. Well, awesome unless you're driving directly behind one. The salt works for temps above 10F only.

Got in to work, on time. Yoohoo!
Spent 8 hours attending meetings, doing drawings, talking, machining. Then, at 530pm. Came out to parking lot, to see this:

The cycle repeats.