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Float On

Swaddled by the murky heaviness that surrounds, any snatches of air would cut right through to the epicenter of your world. These are the moments of clarity you cling to, powering you through to the next breath. The muffled sounds and the razor edges hit your ears in turn, cutting in and out like an old transistor radio tuned to stations uncomfortably snug in their frequencies.

Solitary living can sometimes feel a bit like drowning. It's only when I step back from the lists, the minutes, the personal and the manageable, and look at the life that I'm carving out like a spinning top marking lines in the dirt, I feel swallowed up by something bigger. I'm not even sure if I mean that to be a bad thing. I'm easily overwhelmed.

I've been solitary all my life. Relationships, even the more serious ones, were merely blips on my timeline. I've never been the kind to call someone up the moment something goes wrong, I'm far more likely to retreat further into myself, internalise the issue, and try to dissipate it within me. You would think I'd be good at this by now.

I've lamented at length the desire to fall backwards, into a pair of arms, even if momentarily. So I can catch my breath and pretend that someone else is picking up the slacks for a while. "You and me baby, against the world." Something that is equal, something that is higher. A mutual dependency held on so tightly that it can break through anything and come out no worse for wear.

This, is not that either.

I'm tired of listening, I'm tired of talking, can't we all just float around for a bit while the world rages on? We'll be back to battle soon, but for now, just take my hand, and we'll just float.

Why yes, I am in a modest mouse frame of mind.


Ahh.. there's that smile.

This is north, here is where I should be pointing.

There's a process between diagnosis and recovery. If the previous post was the prescription, then I'd just been through the initial stages of "it has to get worse before it gets better".

I'm better.

Let's try to avoid that rat hole I was about to fall into. This, is not that.


It's November, it's unnecessarily cold, and I can't sleep. What else is new? Falling into patterns of interest and disinterest, I'm still just looking for a hard on, this doesn't bode well for someone at a school who's focal technique is about stimulation. I'm grabbing on to whatever works; memories, fantasies, altercations, affiliations, the corporeal and the ineffable.

I've been talking to someone lately who has this insatiable appetite for experience. He's got an unbeatable enthusiasm as well which is just so fucking beautiful. There's the hunger of youth that radiates off his face, which is both distancing but also, god damn, just look at it. If he ever asks me what I enjoy about his company, those are the exact words I would use. It's rubbing off on me, reminding me of how hungry I am to feel.

Actor wankery alert. Shut it down, Qin. Shut it all the way down.

It's way too late to actually elaborate, so I'll just leave you at this.


Epic Conversations In Hushed Tones

There are events that can sometimes change your life thereafter, then there are the conversations you have that would hopefully prompt change in your life; these should occur frequently, and at great intensity.

A few months ago, at the start of summer, two girls started yelling at each other at the corner of 32nd and 5th, ignoring the tempting wafts of Kyochon: Chicken Revolution as they set about instigating their own revolution. (Just as tasty, with less chicken. There is some chicken, just less.) Tonight, those same two girls furiously reinstated their manifesto in energized whispers. (Revolutions do not wait for sleeping roommates.)

Happiness is something that requires fighting to be won, at least the kind that is satisfying does. This doesn't always mean sacrifices, but it does mean work. I have to be honest, I have been doing shit all. And now, having settled into my rut so comfortably that my legs have gone numb, I'm finding it hard to step back out again. This is not how it's supposed to happen, I am not supposed to be this castrated. Testicular fortitude, baby. Qinny is coming back and taking what's hers.

Hello friday, meet my five.

5 step action plan

1. On all the "work" I've done this semester, I call BULLSHIT

2. Sit the fuck down, and read. Find things that turn me on. No tv on the background, no laptop, ipad, phone or "makeup ideas to test drive".

3. No more Delivery.com, especially not past midnight.

4. Keeping up correspondences regularly so that I don't feel shit about being a shit, thus making reconnections that much harder.

5. Tell people that I love them, because I do.


There This Now: My Gluttony, Documented.

Look at my navigation bar, that's right, I started a food blog.

Lord knows I eat enough, and I can honestly say that apart from the times when my brain is occupied with what is directly happening, most of the time my thoughts are equally divided into either food or sex; what to get, how to get it, when am I getting it (the same goes for both). If I'm really getting confessional I should admit that not that much (or more accurately, not enough) thought really goes into the sex part, it's mostly just general thinking around the subject. But food, my dears, that's a whole other story. The first post would the the first in what I'm sure would be many entries tagged under Ramen Wars. Each new place I try would be positioned as the challenger and at the end of the post I would let you know who stands as the reigning champion. I'm also going to post up reviews of other food obsessions, home experimental adventures, and general sprouting of food related thoughts.

So that's all the housekeeping I have to do today. Everything else seems to be status quo, including the ever consistent (self induced) sleep deprivation. I have this birthday balloon which, despite its shrivelled up outward appearance, resolutely floats upwards. Let this serve as a metaphor for the day, kittens.


Life Maths

I'm going to say something and I hope you won't get too mad at me when I do say it; my life > your life.

Unless your name is Bruce Willis (who just can't have a bad day, I refuse to believe otherwise) or Elisabetta Canalis (who is basically the queen of Italy right now), my life would undoubtedly trump yours. 

All this is to say, I'm a little too preoccupied to blog about my awesome life.

Minka Kelly just took the Esquire's Sexiest Woman Alive title, most people know her as the hot girl from Friday Night Lights, I just know her as the hot behavioral therapist on Parenthood with a girlish voice that I kinda like for some reason. I'm not sure why this piece of news is important, but while I'm not providing you entertainment in my life, you should go look at her photos. Also, her Parenthood credits are not listed on her wikipedia page, I saw a picture of her ass and thought, that's Gaby from Parenthood. I now recognise girls by their asses now.

Esquire is now on the iPad. You have no idea how happy this makes me.

Happy Columbus Day to everyone who has a day off right now!

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