Dear diary,

I've taken self-debasement to a whole new level. Wanting to quit my unhealthy obsession with my computers, I now spend entire days glued to the TV, just channel surfing, watching any program that remotely catches my eye. Bad move.

I caught four romance movies on HBO/Cinemax/Star Movies in two days. I caught a few episodes of Spongebob Squarepants TV series. And their replays. I caught HK dramas, couldn't tell the difference amongst them; seemingly same actors/actresses, similar filming locations, similar plots, same sense of humour. I watched AXN, ESPN, Bloomsberg, BBC, Phoenix, National Geographic, Animal World, Discovery channel, practically every channel available save for that French channel that I can't enunciate. I'm not that bored yet.

The worst part of it all? The love movies I watched. They were nice, yes, I loved them, even the bittersweet ones, but they never failed to jab at a certain nerve. The feeling of inadequacy. The stirrings of tender passion and the inadequacy to nurse it, think about it even. I have no love life to speak of whatsoever right now, and I suspect my little longings for a love relationship is not so much derived from a need for love or to be loved, rather more so a need to reaffirm it. Yes, it's this childish impatience for reaffirmation that keeps my mind fixated on the subject of love. To know if love could actually be anywhere near cinematic glory, a quarter of it even, and not just figments of conniving scriptwriters' imaginations. Confound it.

I probably don't deserve to see the best side of love, and I'm not wishing that. It needn't even have to be me to experience this elusive love that will compel, convince and captivate me.

Just something to blind me from the hurt that I see in the people around me who lay in the smouldering wreckages of their destructive relationships.

Something to let them break free.

Dear diary,

I've gotta stop this obsession with my computer. It's debilitating, becoming a vice of sorts. I'm so hooked it seems like my life is orbital around it. I can't pass a day without laying hands on it, even if I absolutely have no use for the dang machine. Makes me lethargic, keeps me from doing more meaningful things, a complete waste of time at the very least. Still, I can't tear myself away. It beckons so gently every morning, an irresistable warm inviting wave that laps at your feet.

Mum: Son you look so sickly! Are you taking drugs?!
Me: No ma, worse. I'm high on kilobytes!

Hmm, that didn't sound right.

And, there's this dang Sims 2 game that I can't seem to get over. Can't help it if I had Angelina Jolie, Alicia Keys and Kate Beckinsale as my neighbours. And, my pretty wife just got pregnant. Now I have to juggle between the amorous advances of hot celebrities and my nauseate and grumpy wife. To make matters worse, I have to do yoga(for whatever unknown lameass reasons) for most part of my time to improve my "body" to get a promotion. Like suppleness of your body ever matters in your job. Unless of course, you're a porn star or something.

Then there's this problem of never being satisfied with how the way my house looked, even when I built it from scratch. It's always a quest for finding a set of perfectly matching wallpaper and floor tiles, the chair that goes with the expensive maplewood dinner table. Never. This game is designed to irk the little perfectionist in you, like it's mocking you "Hey, you never get those in life, so you'd never get them here. This is a reality simulation, hello? Boo hoo hoo."

Still, this game's so much more interesting than my life right now, which probably borders between Discovery Channel's "Habits and Movement of the Hoffman's Sloth(Choloepus hoffmani)" and the novel: "The Escapades of the Limp Rag - The Carwash Journals".





My family is really boring. They have a coffee table book called 'Pictures We Took Just to Use Up the Rest of the Film.' --Penelope Lombard

Dear diary,

Argh. The monotony of my life has hit me like a persevering low, droning note that never seems to trail off. In all contrasted starkness, life around me never seems to stop pulsating, a heady bass that keeps in chime with its erratic staccato. I feel like I'm in some freeze-frame or something. Weird.

Not complaining really. Just wished there were more things to do. Actually, make that just things that are effortless enough for me to want to do. And, inexpensive. Like walking the dog, or going window shopping. Problem is I don't have a dog, I used to, but that's a long story. Window shopping? Bah. That's for girls. So I came to the conclusion that the cheapest way to keep me entertained and satisfied was to be a computer geek. It's easy. You just spend all ur conscious hours logged on to the computer and you: Blogsurf -chat-.Check e-mail -chat-. Check ebay -chat-. Download mp3s -chat-. Play online games -chat-. Get name translated into Jap -chat-. Check latest hollywood gossip -chat-. That'll probably take up most of the day. If it falls short, just repeat the process. Do it diligently and you'll get that fresh-from-the-grave gothic look that's so in vogue right now, complete with bloodshot eyes and sallow skin. Talk about getting ready for Halloween.

Then I thought about writing a novel. Realised it's tougher than it seems. A bestseller (probably)needs a good plot that has an infusion of love, humour and tragedy; 2 protaganists at least, mainly a plucky hunk with chiselled jaws and deepset eyes, a sassy babe with big boobs and legs that go on forever, some short wrinkled crippled old fart as their nemesis, and not forgetting the peppering of the pages with quotes and anecdotes from famous deceased people. Throw in controversial elements such as religious zealotry, gender discrimination and same-sex marriages for that extra oomph.

Ok, this post is starting to get wacky. Better do some damage control before my mental floodgates burst. -zip-

Dear diary,

It's been so long since my last update.

Ok, doodleboard's down. Until I pay of course. The weasels. Now I have to go through the trouble of finding a decent free tagboard, meddle with the html and hopefully not ruin my already vintage hick of a layout, not mentioning the fact that all my "doodles" are deleted. Into the wastelands of cyberscum. Lost to oblivion. Gone. They should pay me to not sue their boxers off. Yet, they probably also know I have no case against them. The bloody weasels.

Been sleeping alot lately. Sleep has become a perpetual motion, feeding on and renewing itself in a neverending cycle of blank space, nightmares and fantasies. The more I sleep, the sleepier I become, and if I wasn't any wiser I'd have thought that was a good thing. Still, it could just be an interest collection from my sleep creditor. Which brings me to another question: Is it "an interest collection" or "a interest collection"? Does the adjective serve the noun or the verb? Naturally I would've used "an" but I think I've seen people use "a" in situations like this. Great. Now I'm bad at grammar too.

Caught "Hitch" not too long ago. A romance comedy, but not so much of romance as comedy, which makes it slightly different. Love becomes a very light-hearted affair in the show. Naivety? Probably. Hope? Definitely. Leaves you feeling a heady and happy, like a cinema version of chocolate. There are repercussions of watching an effective movie as such though, like how I can't shake the image of Eva Mendes off my mind, or the realisation of how desperately I wanted to be in love. Kinda forgotten how it feels like. God I'm starting to sound like Moulin Rouge. Fan-bloody-tastic. (That doesn't mean I don't recommend the show. You love-nuts and all the pansies out there deserve the same fate.)

Ok, gotta run. The creds are here again.

"Could I request a tropical beach backdrop, sunset, lotsa seagulls and a mai tai for tonight?"