... addict ...

Ok, I'm addicted to a lot of things. Nothing new there.


Funny how I can be addicted to stuff which I haven't been having a lot of and am too ignorant to qualify as a fan, much less an addict. Must be that sense of knowing the deprivation that makes it all the more luring and addictive.


Addicted to anime although I haven't watched that many or even know of many. Addicted to manga despite having read only a couple of volumes and just completed 1 full series for the first time before. Addicted to good fantasy writers although I'm not much of an expert when it comes to reading books *ok, I admit I used to be called a bookworm but that's a time ago and was only an illusion to my peers, given the surroundings we grew up in*. Definitely addicted to certain type of foods during certain times. Shopping hasn't made it that far yet at the moment *thankfully* but is definitely queueing up on the waiting list.

Crap, I've got no self-control or will-power whatsoever.


Despite working late hours everyday, piling on the stress and kilos, I somehow still managed to read manga til 4am every night. Not even the rare sound of birds chirping in the ever gloomy grey London sky could stop me from reading the next page or move me to finally shut down my computer to rest. For the first couple of weeks this happened, it was still consolable by the fact that the manga was a good one. But one can't deceive oneself longer as the weeks went on. And especially when you're running out of quality fare to fuel your time away.

Fact is *and I was all too aware of it as always*, it's just a convenient form of denial. I'd always thought of addiction as part of the denial family. Whether it's the immediate family or not *short of looking up a dictionary*, the relation is obvious and can't be further than a 1st degree cousin at any rate.


Addicted. Running away. Immersing oneself excessively. Retreating inwardly, avoiding endlessly. Absolutely nothing less than denial.



It's nowhere near the same as bearing the weight of the world on one's shoulders. Not as though life and death lay within the decision in my hands. So...?





... too lazy to stop living in limbo, that's why.

p/s: It's been 2 years here already, though I can't say this is unexpected.

... dance club ...

Sadler's Wells has this occasional dance club thingy which starts off with short classes and ends with club-like sessions. This time it was flamenco, so I went for it. The class wasn't anything special as expected *nothing too technical, just simple steps to try out and justify the notion of a 'class'* and the DJ didn't turn up last minute. All the same, it was affordable for a one-off thingy and I was treating it as an intro to flamenco anyway.

Of the Latin craze, stuff like tango and salsa didn't appeal to me as much as something like flamenco. Of course, I would love to learn all of it if possible but given the financial constraints, flamenco would be my first choice. It has a more fiery flair to it, sufficiently rhythmic, some stamping *but not as technical as tap*, no definite need of gymnastic flexibility, and lovely guitar music as accompaniment. Most of all *big determining factor for me*, it does not require a dance partner.


Ah, I wish I could afford regular classes in all dance varieties... I definitely need the exercise, at the very least. *particularly against the idea of going to the gym for any sort of 'regular exercise'* Surprisingly, I woke up the next day without any pains or aches. Just go to show it wasn't that much of a class in the first place and didn't warrant any exertion of efforts. Or maybe I'm just too self-conscious again to try my best...



... dance, anyone? =(

... grim realisations 3.0 ...

It's pathetic enough when the only people who ever asks you out in your entire sordid existence called life are the few strangers who happen to see you on the streets / buses / bus stops / some-random-public-area-where-they've-got-nothing-better-to-do-to-pass-the-time-and-obviously-any-random-bystander-of-the-female-persuasion-will-do. But it certainly doesn't help that they all seem to come from the same type of mold, THAT kind of people... Times like this, can't blame one for being prejudicial.


Yet another sign indeed.



*note to self - avoid that supermarket*

Not that I actually have any self-delusions that I would be remembered. Nor do I care. It's just that I need to forget. Desperately.





Wouldn't it be nicer if I was born a guy?