about 2 more hours to work.. its quite unhealthy how i count down the hours with dread even if i had 5 hours before i have to wear that hideous shirt and my oversized khakis.. i look like a disgruntled kid drowning in clothing and grumpiness at the store. i shall just pray we dont end at 11 again and that hammy drops by before nine as a good excuse for a break instead of loithering around the mall lookig pathetically sad for 30mins.

lol, oh dont i hate my job. dont take it personally dear sportschek.. i hate every job. anything that exercises my obligation rather than my moods tend to irritate me. predictably of purl, persuading complete strangers(who often think everything is just too darned expensive and should be in a discounted walmart instead) to buy badly mechandized(applies strictly to sportschek) products unfortunately happens to be one big, badly dressed, boring and banal obligation in my book.

-pst, notice the use of words that start with B. lol

its only been about a month and im already threatening my considerably healthy blood pressure to rise. trust me my friends. i would so rather write a 500 word essay than watch time sprint toward 5pm.

well whatever, at least getting through those hours always give me a petty excuse to congragulate myself for being patient, kind and generous with my fake smiles and pretentious enthusiasm to make u spend as much money as possible - the ideal kind of sales person which i am fuly aware i certainly am not. i pat myself on the back and tell myself " hey, although u are already considering the options to escape your current job, you are about to beat your grand goodlife gyms record of 2 months!(they paid me better to be a slacker)". so i guess its a good thing.

besides, that way i dont feel as disgusted with myself for not having time to go to the gym so often. i tell myself at least im doing some form of cardio at work with the constant walking, climbing and carrying of boxes. but damm, im feeling so pudgy. prissy piglety pudgy purl. thats me. havent done regular strength training in so long and i swear i probably cant run up a couple flight of stairs before collapsing on the sides in a flubby heap. i dont care if i can now feel my whole pelvic bone and i dont have to pout to poke heartlessly at my cheekbones with familiar self hatred.. im getting soft :S!! oh good god.

and oh, i forgot, i get crappy pay too. so i guess its all good. maybe after working for 5 months i can go shopping for one day.

oh rats, 1 hr and 20 mins left.(given i take 10 mins to get there)

the unedited ramblings of purl of tonight

the melancholy i exaggerate.

[i]
The artist's somehow narcissistic gift of self exaggeration, the typical amplification of pain and sorrow, joy, love.
Especially the endless echoes of my constant desolation that haunt me
Such a cliche, how dare I mutter such trivial words, my trivial mind
Of which I struggle for individuality, which is simultaneously being copied into another's.
Cycles of disintegrating dignity, integrity.
Both of us sitting silently by the glowing jukebox, enveloped by our own silence
We weren't holding hands I recall
Surely we aren't the same.


How I would allow my own
Alienation, from myself, of course, I still don't know.
Documentation of this internal dialogue, transforming it into something no longer just mine
The ironies of language -
They tell us in school, this education, of the new age phenomenon of the
Constant commodification of my body, my voice, my face, my private thoughts
The words tattooed on my skin, along the temples, along my jaw, etched onto my dry finger tips.
Yet ignored, hidden
We forget how to read. We forget what matters.
Winter is approaching; the leaves fall red like pools of blood at my bare, childish feet
My bleeding heart on my torn, dusty sleeve
Hers, his, theirs.

[ii]
Hatred burns for and within the skin you are in
The repulsive reality of tangible flesh, the glaring obligations to listen to this Absurd artifact of nerve endings.
You are just so tired,
Tired.
Lethargy lulls you into the silent tomb of unconsciousness, the smoldering voidless of everything.

The world and its words. Its pictures and sounds and money that scald and hurt.
You still do not understand how, where, when and why,
These blades that render you voiceless got caught in your throat.
You simply woke up one morning, loneliness and frustration bleeding tears into your lidless eyes, your palms cold and sad.

[iii]
Alas!
It is the exuberance of your love, darling,
that saturates the corners of my mind, my world -
a cliche that finds itself cast aside once so often,
and once more redeemed just the same.

Step in, half stranger, half twin -
so present, yet so elusive -
and hold me.
Allow me to tumble into your strange and familiar embrace,
let me fall as prey.
The hunter hidden in your lips and fingertips.
The wilderness of the heart.

[iv]
Repetition, repetition, repetition.
I love you I love you I love you.
The ecstasy and elation that often confuse or awaken.
I keep finding myself falling through the cracks of my heart
into oceans of valium,
orange balloons,
rain,
laughter,
pain,
flames,
you.
I love you I love you I love you.
But I cant find my voice.

- amidst it all
You feel paralysed,
A squashed bug under a shoe.

"When you experience the loss of a beloved, you somehow lose more of that person than you even thought possible. I was prepared to lose my tennis doubles partner, my dinner companion, my sexy girl. But I was not prepared for the exodus of all those other, little Margarets, Margarets I had never even bothered to notice: Margaret checking the mail in just socks, Margaret at the kitchen table eating unwashed grapes, Margaret falling asleep with a book across her face, Margaret leaving her galoshes by the door, Margaret writing long letters that she could never bear to send.

The casualties seemed to go on and on. Just when I thought I was done losing her, I would find yet another way to lose her all over again." - Margarettown, Gabrielle Zevin

havent written a real blog, or anything for that matter, for so long.. as much as i want to, it seems as if i stand in the midst of a cloud of dust. i cannot find the words. nor the energy to string them coherently together. there are so many things i want to talk about. my love, my dispair.. everything. but it just doesnt seem fair.

i seek for inspiration.. searching for and finding beauty in my lover's face, the dry gravel, another's words. yet i cannot separate my own from my churning consciousness. daydreams, reality, hopes find themselves blending into a whirl from which i have yet to pull myself out.

its been so long.