I Don't Believe That Anybody Feels The Way I Do About You Now

Here's an update. Well, if you know how this site works, you know I don't do updates. But hey, I figure that I have not been posting for while now and sure there are plenty of stuff that I want to talk about but couldn't place the right heat of passion to coax it out, and I just got off night shift, been awake for straight nineteen hours, what is a better way to do it than a quickie update?

This is a blog. Yes, it's pretentious and self absorbed. Hey, I'm up for nineteen hours, can't fault me. I'm up for anything.

Entry title comes from the song 'Wonderwall'. Ryan Adams' cover has been looping for hours. In plot of entering the brooding mode and self withdrawal, I have been employing to relate to characters in similar motives. Yeap, I have been watching The OC season one again. I like the part where Oliver schemed betwixt Marissa and Ryan, which rendered Ryan alone and abandoned by those around him. I like that. I think I can relate to that, well at least I hope to. If not, brooding is just plain silly. Ironman broods too, I guess. He led this dysfunctional relationship with his mechanical assistants in his basement, day in and out working his fancies away, alone. There is surely an uncanny nature between man and his solitude if so he chooses to be over the sirens of urban lights. It's soothing to melt quietly into the environment where words are overrated. Communication is a narrowing of the brows or just intense concentration in the taming the bloody mind. And the occasional chuckle at one's own non-whimsical charm.

That day, monday, I had had the best day in months. I can look back and say wow, that was a good one, I had fun. It started in the morning that I can have a breakfast of potato chips with rice while watching The OC, just the thought of gouging on fried food and felt my muscles atrophied on computer chair pleasured me with the notion of retirement. And then I went to work for just three freaking hours! They were paying me back the overtime. Three hours! I was barely there and gone, while fully guilt my mind that I have slough enough and now ready to deserve the joy that the rest of the day can unleash to me. Nothing kicks in your ability to enjoy anything like a good day's work. Three hours are healthy, it mushes your mind for a while but still leaves your attention intact and minimal self loathing to carry on the day's span. I swear that I will eventually get a job that I only have to work three hours a day! After work I got to go to my favorite place in the universe - the library to grab some comics, met up friends for yet another greasy meal at Burger King's. Slacked in the arcades and watched Ironman. Ironman was excellent. I am truly a converted Marvel fan. Strolled home in midnight breeze and played Mahjong until four in the morning. And I didn't sucked at all.

Isn't that a fantastic day? I don't know what is your definition of a good one but the above mentioned seems like the best I could squeeze out from this world of a stone. Not that I care about yours, but I have to admit that I am curious about your world. And at times I do stuff to mimic the supposed lesiure of your kind with not-so-great effect. I guess everybody have their own fun. Wonderwalls.

I really wanted to complete Richard. I have gotten to the point that I couldn't even enjoy writing anymore among fussing on how to get it right. I want to get it right. I do. And I will. Come december I will be freer and I will dedicate an hour each day of my life to write, anything and everything. I am looking so forward to it.

Ain't life's about the forward button?

Seek me there.

The Young Tony Stark
(The Look is back)