I feel like talking to an old friend about nothing in particular. Maybe wonder about dream interpretations and the curious shapes clouds take. If there was a cloud that looked like a duck, maybe we'd quack and giggle.

I don't know if I have a friend who'd quack with me with no prompting, tho. And I'd have to strain my eyes very hard to see cloud shapes, as it is past midnight now, and my eyes are struggling to read what I am typing, as it is. It's either fatigue, or the need for a new pair of specs.

So here I am, old friend. Blogging. :)

There might be something fundamentally wrong with me to feel trapped this easily. Something in the way I was brought up, something in a book I read as a child that left a strong message or some painting that scared me into non-submission. OR, there's nothing actually wrong with me, and I belong to a large group of ppl who think alike.

Alright, I do know I belong to that large group of ppl who think alike. But y'know...that doesn't help one bit. There might as well be something wrong with me.

It feels like I am alone. Perhaps that's the perfect truth.

If I disappeared, where would I exist?

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I hate telcos. I really really do.

WHY DO I HAVE TO CAMP BY THE PHONE JUST TO BLOODY REACH THEM?

Bah.

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