jinghui, then adrian.

happy birthday, adrian.

and happy was-a-birthday, jinghui.

i was going to get jinghui a copy of The Cardigan's "Long Gone Before Daylight", but i couldn't find one, and i wasn't cheap enough to lend her my copy as her gift.

i was going to bring a bottle of Absolut Vodka to adrian's party, but i didn't know just what kind of party it was, and decided against it. (by the way--adrian, i like you a whole lot, but i don't like your friends at all. maybe it's the toilet humor. maybe it's the level of humor. maybe it's what they take as birthday-party-conversation. maybe it's human behavoir. maybe it's the ukulele.)

i was going to get my life in order.

why do i always feel so wistful? like as if i've lived six decades and that everything is what-could-have-been.

i talked quite a bit during the first half of the long bus ride back home, to karen, and thought quite a bit during the second half of the long bus ride back home, by myself. what happens if nothing happens? what do i do?

i wish for a spectacular, stunning and stupefying accident to happen to me. something that is as obviously severe as how the rest of my life is so subtly severe, no one can see anything if you don't say a word.

i wish for a chance to do some things again. for the chance to not have done some things. for the chance to not have to do or experience some other things.

i wish for the chance to do what i like (Visual Communication), with people i like (the VSC-and-one-IMD-and-one-IAD people), when i like (now. right bloody now).

but, sadly, all i want for christmas is you.

and let's not even talk about my birthday, shall we?