Okay, so the past 2 days have been pretty incredible- if completely unproductive A Level-wise.

Niggling things first.

I have had enough with petty namecalling and overreactive girlfriends and people I don't recognize any more. I trusted you, and you told her a different story?

I prefer to keep my drama on the stage, thank you.

And on that note- I love Elizabeth Fong with a tenacity; bitchiness all inclusive.

So back off.

Now that that's out of the way. Onto the good stuff.

Yesterday...I had a root canal. (yes, yes. I know I said good stuff)

I wasn't frightened or anything, unlike most people; because unlike most people, I've never been afraid of going to the dentist. I never got why people kicked up this big fuss about having their teeth checked, because as far as I remember, I've always quite enjoyed it.

Up till now.

So I go in for my root canal; and the dentist (nice, but with forgettable name...let's call him Mr X). So Mr X takes out this frankly formidable looking needle and inside I'm thinking, "...oh scheisse. oh scheisse. this is going to hurt." But I have a high pain threshold; so I kind of just turn up Owl City on my iPod and breathe evenly and tell myself it's not going to hurt.

It hurts, naturally.

See, the thing is. Normal People have their mouths completely numbed after 1 injection.

But not me. No-o.

Instead, I'm still chattering away to the dentist after the 3rd injection; and he puts down his needle and looks at me funny and goes, "...You have a very powerful tongue. Your entire left side is supposed to be immobile by now."

So- lucky me!- I am subjected to MORE shots. And after each one, he does this little test where he places an icecold swab on my tooth and if I say "ow" then that means I can still feel and therefore need more injections. Lovely.

...So he fiiiinally starts proper surgery, after about 8 injections.

And he puts the drill to the back of my tooth, and I go "...ow" -- and instantly curse myself.

So all in all, I got about 12 injections.

Normal people get 1, I get 11 more. FML.

After THAT traumatizing little ordeal, I head on down to town to meet Erik. I have already forewarned him that "the entire left side of my face may be paralysed, you may not be able to understand anything I say".

Needless to say, though, being the chemically-immune freak I have now discovered I am, my mouth is entirely mobile and I'm talking as per normal. ANYWAY.

The first thing he does when he sees me is put his finger over my lips. And then he hands me a Sharpie. And has one of his own. And writes on his hand, "...we're going to communicate on our skin today"

Keeping silent, I have realized, is verrry difficult for me. Especially when I have things to say, like stories about traumatic orthodontial experiences.

"at least till Cathay" he writes and I scrawl a big "WHY" on his left forearm.

I didn't make it till Cathay, of course. But we watched some indie film @ the Picture House and pretended to be deaf mutes, twas all good fun.

---

And today I rolled out of bed, stared out the window, and thought, "...crud. Global warming + dragonboating = NOT a good combo." Because it was absolutely blazing out. Like- step out of the house and then: total annihilation kind of blazing.

So Kiki met Di and I at kallang (but not before a very animated train ride); and we headed down to the river; and all the while Di and Kiki are going on and onnn about why did you choose today of all days, Cara, hottest day of the year, hard sport, etc.

It was odd, though, because in the next ten minutes- the weather did a complete one eighty. The sky turned this dark, angry grey, and there was lightning just past the city skyline, and it was wonderful. I love storms.

The two new boats were brought down to the water's edge to be christened.

"Since we are the German Dragons SINGAPORE, we shall do this the Western Way, and also the Eastern Way."

So for the first boat, there was this bottle of sparkling wine and it was smashed against the side of the boat, and liberally sprayed over all of the seats.

"Ah, sticky seats. No need for seatpads now."

And for the second; ...it was beautiful.

We all lit three sticks of incense each, and laid an offering before the dragon's head. And then, with the wind howling around us and bits of debris already starting to whirl along the shoreline, we all cupped our palms gently around the burning incense sticks, and then bowed thrice, "...to the spirit of the dragon", and then again- "to the open water".

Cue a still and reverential silence, as she knelt before the dragon's head and moved a brush dripping with red paint over its mouth ("...so this dragon may breathe fire"), over its horns ("so this dragon may fight fiercely"), and finally over its eyes- crimson, blazing.

"Now this dragon can see."

By now the water was absolutely sleeting down around us; Di and I'd come prepared for hot weather in a thin shirt and bikini, so I was shivering by the time we launched and rowed out. But from up front Kiki was beating the drums, and the rows upon rows of arms, backs, sinewy shoulders in front of me were moving in tandem, and my paddle was pulling through the weight of the water, and I have not felt so strong and so steady in so long, too long.

Later on we swapped positions around, and I went to the back row...and almost fell off the side of the boat because on my left, to be my rowing partner; was hands down one of the biggest guyz I have ever seen. Like, huuge. Neanderthal. But smiling, which was lucky, because the next hour of rowing would not have been much fun otherwise.

Next hour was spent on starts, and power strokes, and race sets. Getting out of bed tomorrow is so not gonna be fun.

And halfway through, somebody from the front held up one red chopstick and called out with some puzzlement, "...this belong to anyone?" and all the huge guys in front of me stared up at it with varying expressions of perplexity because, like, "what the hell is red chopstick doing in boat, man?"

and I piped up, "...oh. That's mine. For my hair."

After water training, we all chuck wagoned. Gotta love the German Dragons- completely negate all that calorie burning with copious amounts of beer and bbq.

Random guy: "Hey Barry. Pick up that keg and bring it over there, will ya?"

Barry: "Okay." *aside, to us* "...And now I'm carrying 30 litres of beer. Alone. Fun."

...So yeah. Tiring day- but awesome day, so I don't mind, really.

I've hurt for what matters, and I've realized which love really matters. I wish he hadn't changed so completely, but that's just made me see the people who haven't; the people who've always been there.

We may be bitches, but at least we're honest bitches.

Roll on Life; I'm ready.

"the trick is never giving more than you were willing to lose."

---

So I'm here in a baggy nightgown and yesterday's eyeliner and headphones listening to your rhythms and your beats and I think it's pretty sexy the way you drop the boom the way you do.

I've heard somewhere that we all learn to love what's good for us; ...and you are very, very bad for me. But that's okay because I don't love you, I just like your laughs.

Yesterday I went out and met Di, and we spent a lovely hour or so sunken into big, soft couches with diet A&W and no-pressure icecream and talking; mainly about love and loss and eyeliner. It's funny- I swear, FB is the Great Uniter of kindred spirits. A year ago all I knew of her was that she was the "german girl" who stood on tiptoe to buy fruits from the school canteen; and now we're like sisters and different sides of the same coin.

Denarii, naturally. ;)

And then met Erik halfway/3 quarters of the way/God we need better coordination. He tried to scoop me up and carry me off but I screamed and wriggled and yelled "rape" till he had to put me down, and I got psychoanalyzed and we had skittles and icecream and laughed at street buskers.

So all in all it was a good day. I haven't done any proper work today or yesterday, though, which is...bad. I have this weird little feeling that I should be more stressed than I am right now. It's just- I've been so tired lately; I come back home and I'm absolutely exhausted and ready to drop by the time 10pm rolls around. I used to stay up till 2am every night, but these nights I consider myself Way Productive if I make it mugging till midnight. And it's not like I'm not getting sleep, either- I am. Which makes me wonder if it's more than just physical rest I'm needing.

...but sod it; my A levels are in less than half a year and it's no use worrying about my psychological wellbeing right now. Mental health can go suck it; we'll find some way to get it back AFTER As end.

On a side note: Lisa, Lyn, and Di have been wonderful fixtures in my life lately. You girls don't keep me sane- you make me glad we're all a little off our rockers.

I wrote a song about you (yes, you!) the other day and it was INCREDIBLE and one day they're going to be playing it down at West End.

Moral of the story: when Life hands you a douchebag, write witty song about said douche.

I figure if ever something gets me around to feeling less than stellar; i might as well channel that less-than-stellarness into making something beautiful. Pearl of wisdom? ...I think so.

"What is that feeling when you're driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing?

— it's the too-huge world vaulting us, and it's good-by.

But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies."

Gerry: "Kiss me arse!"

Holly: "Kiss mine! In English!"

----

...Okay, not a very poetic opening quote.

But the one movie that can make me simultaneously cry, laugh, and run (on the treadmill) has GOT to be PS: I Love You.

I loved the book when I first read it (my mum cried all over the place), and I loved the movie, and I love both still.

It was a toss-up between My Fair Lady, De-Lovely, and PS I Love You at the videostore today; and in the end, I decided on the latter. I'm glad I did, too. I can remember everything that happens in the movie, but it never gets old.

Guy at the videostore: *scans in DVD* .... *gives me funny look* ...Uh...you do realize you've borrowed this three times before, right?

Cara: Right. :>

Guy: ...Uh. Okay then.

...And now I want to go to Ireland, after A Levels.

Which would be a nice form of motivation to keep in my pocket; because recently I haven't felt like Anything. Yeah, life's good, and yeah, I've been going out, and yeah, I've been having good talk, and yeah, yeah, yeah.

But it's all just been moving through the motions, because above all is the Dark Ominous THING that's hanging over my head and we're all just waiting for the guillotine to fall, really. It's my personal Shrouded Traveller, a la Kerouac. And it's not a nice feeling, and very often makes me want to close my eyes again as soon as I open them in the morning.

...Is it sad, that the sweeping five-second aerial view of Ireland; with its green fields and oceans upon oceans of wild lavender and heath and its lakes and its trees-- made me feel more properly alive than I have in a while?

Ireland, or Australia, or Phuket, or Greece?

...Oh, the curse of choice.

I got caught up in the Greek mythology fever again, and I wanted Greece. I topped up my tan, and I wanted Australia. I watched PS: I Love You, and I wanted Ireland. Maybe if I reread my SEA History notes, I'll want Phuket...

Today while watching the movie, I heard Galway Girl for the first time in a long time.

I haven't been able to listen to it in a while. But it's an amazing song ("the perfect Irish anthem for summer", says Brian O'Donovan on Celtic Sojourn.FM- which is the Boston based Irish radio station I tune into instead of 98.5 FM), and I've loved it since first I heard it.

So it's now the new blog song. Thank you, Steve Earle!

All right. Now I'm going to finish up this assignment on Soviet intervention, which hopefully doesn't make me want to change my post-A plans to visiting Russia; and then I'm going to finish watching PS: I Love You; and then get through this (test) week. The weekend will be good- dragonboating, party, and sleepover with Diana. The 'rents are leaving for Down Under, so here's where the fun starts.

PS: I think there is slightly more credibility in liking PS: I Love You over The Notebook, because at least the former has a truly wicked soundtrack. Also- Gerard Butler. And his Irish accent. I like people who write letters.

"Dear Holly,

I don't have much time. I don't mean literally, I mean you're out buying ice cream and you'll be home soon. But I have a feeling this is the last letter, because there is only one thing left to tell you.

It isn't to go down memory lane or make you buy a lamp, you can take care of yourself without any help from me. It's to tell you how much you move me, how you changed me. You made me a man, by loving me Holly. And for that, I am eternally grateful... literally. If you can promise me anything, promise me that whenever you're sad, or unsure, or you lose complete faith, that you'll try to see yourself through my eyes. Thank you for the honor of being my wife. I'm a man with no regrets. How lucky am I. You made my life, Holly. But I'm just one chapter in yours. There'll be more. I promise.

So here it comes, the big one. Don't be afraid to fall in love again. Watch out for that signal, when life as you know it ends.

P.S. I will always love you."

....and credits roll.