strange, foreign life
am i really missing in action?
im currently on a time constraint, seeing forth that my laptop charger has been left sprawled in a wrangled heap elsewhere, whilst i try to make the most of my 2:19 hours of battery sustenance.
oh shit.
i have, in a (non) pragmatic sense, been missing in action.
with little time on my hands to sleep, rest and eat, let alone blog.
last week was markedly a hectic one; showcasing to all present, me, a woman on the periphery of insanity; hedonistic and perturbed.
by that i mean, random bouts of flopping about like a helpless chicken, alternating betweeen a ludicrous consumption of ciggarettes, then, running up and down the building trying to meet deadlines, followed by speeding from sunway to kl to bangsar….assignments, errands, castings.
thursday was abysmally more helter-skelter than usual.
with a presentation at 8 am the next morning, i amazingly managed to squeeze in a birthday tiramisu dinner, and a ghetto heaven night out @ zouk, w toddy, sya, and two, mad (would be an understatement) "kaki-botol" women.
i havent been to ghetto heaven @ zouk for yonks and yonks now.
seeing that the crowd has slowly but surely morphed into a scourge of "mat-rempits" and the likes.
but i told myself "fuck it".
ended up having a fucking awesome time, bouncing about to some RnB music, whilst dodging those two, mad, (by that time) stinking drunk women in their advent mission to get me equally as hammered.
i proudly staved of the alco, long enough to spot the corporeal gyrations of a staggeringly gorgeous dancer on the podium.
i knew it was her! we’d partied together a few times before, hence the growing affinity towards her. she looked amazing even under the unforgiving shards of the zouk spotlight glare.
she waved.
i smiled.
and ended up shamelessly gyrating my hips against sexy hers on the podium as well.
like a firm foot of conscience, sya later poked a bit of fun at me:
"just when i thought your slutting days were over".
damnit.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
fast foward another hour or two bouncing about to RnB music;
our cummulative manpower finally managed to drag the two, mad, (stinking) drunk women out of the club at 3-ish am.
hazily tottered back home at 4,
before hauling my poor aching 70 year old body out of bed at 6:30 am on a friday morning for a 8:00 am presentation.
FUCK ME.
the later part of the friday was spent passed out into the oblivion of day and night.
_____________________________________________________________
my aching loins were still giving me hell on a saturday.
absurd.
as much as i was tempted to go out and bounce the night away at heritage row
i didnt.
my night somehow ended up in my resident hell-hole that is bangsar.
the polluted, convoluted, congested bangsar.
the bangsar that seemed eerily quiet on a late saturday night.
there is something to be said about having friends you can have the following conversation with..
"i went for a drink late last night — everything seemed so still and empty and i became all existentialist and fretful" said I.
she replied "oh, as usual".
-_-
so i resigned to rationalising it here:
As my malleable behind plastered itself uncomfortably on a callous wooden chair, hunched over a table at nirwana’s, my troubled mind began to meander to my surroundings.
people eschew the night because it is existence at its most elemental — silent, empty.
my eyes stopped short in the middle of the road –
night sky ringed w strange, awkward constellations, the trees throwing its grey shadows down on the white of confetti bird droppings and the stark black tar, the distant streetlights with their eerie orange penumbra —
and then i thought, wot is this? all of it?
(my thoughts were abrupty halted by my obligation to inaugurate a conversation w the person sitting opposite me.)
but they quickly came back, the thoughts, striking down like a ten-ton-brick, whilst driving back home.
the silence seemed unbearable.
thick, dark, convoluted.
i peered outside. fleeting images washed past my eyes like one of those flash animation thing-a-majigs.
there was a dented fire hydrant; a mars bar wrapper; all these people slumbering in their uterine houses; planets turning phlegmatically overhead.
–
it was all almost as if it was too much, this silent night, this strange foreign life.
