on mon i will be giving the boot to one of our guys. for a hundred different infractions committed over as long as he's been with us. truly considering his attitude, his unwillingness to work with others and even to work per se, professionally, i am assured. actually, i should have done it a long time ago.
but he's pushing 50, and has 3 kids. the youngest only about 3.
god, i feel like crap.
if u ask me, i have no heart for it. but it has to be done. mondays have never been so fucky.
thurs:-
still flight 1st show. also my virgin atas type play. the outcome is expected - knocked out. gaston said i might have been snoring. eh.. in my defence, i didn't sleep the night before becoz of the office reno. and i did catch the play in rehearsal stage.
so sua kueh, did the "i was in lky's seat thing".
fri:-
i went galavanting with princess fri night. her idea. out of the blue. hmmm... :)
ah, humbug. princess is my numero tiga loose end, and is in a running battle with joys to be my longest and oldest problem. but she's a good problem. you know everyone has a someone that they hold as "the one i can never have", princess is my "one that i can never have".
i told her 14 yrs is freaking long. and she gave me that look.... silence, she was thinking, i think. so coward that i am, changed the subject and heeheehaha all was forgotten.
oh, after knowing her so long, i finally realised and confirmed that she's as commitment phobic as me. wait, come to think of it, even worse than me. haha.
sun:-
gaston: i rented initial d for fun. crap! angsty for no reason. but the jap girl... so kawaii!
alamak.
just realised that after so long i recognised the car! my shrink (i have a shrink, no lah, she my pri school classmate who just happens to be a shrink, but free consultation is a plus) has that car, she drives it for a spin with me sometimes, god it's a really dorky car!
becky, if u reading this, your daddy's car is a big deal now. haha.
re-tuned princess's poem again. had a new one, but lazy to type. maybe on deepavali.
***
This One's for You
Tap, tap.
That's me at your door. Again.
I don't have the keys anymore.
If i did, I could have let myself in,
past the whitewashed walls
scribing "I was here" in red spray
in the corner you reserved just for me.
Following the neon breadcrumbs
I tiptoed past the corridor into
the difference between yours and mine.
Somewhere in the coldest corner of your room
are my letters.
Stacked and arranged chronologically,
their lids still sealed by my tongue; mine.
There should be dead roses here,
wilting and refusing to dry; yours.
i found my bear, jammed into a cup, and forced into a smile;
you can keep that.
Much later, Heart pump, crutches,
knives of every precision;
yours, mine, his his
his.
(f-s. still not done. but me tired... sleepy time. zzz)
***
listening to : dirty harry - gorillaz
reading: selected thom gunn poems but i dunno who selected.
__
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