Friday, April 27, 2007

I guess you can never be too cautious...

It didn't take too long for the profiling to begin.

Some points:

"(CBS) CARY, Ill. An 18-year-old high school student from the northwest suburbs has been arrested and is facing criminal charges for what officals called an alarming essay that made reference to a school shooting."

Hm, intriguing...the title of the article was "Student Arrested For Alarming School Essay" so you know I had to click it. I had to find out.

"Allen W. Lee, a student at Cary-Grove High School in Cary, was charged with disorderly conduct stemming from an essay that was part of a "free writing" assignment in a creative writing class.

The teen was charged because his teacher became alarmed by the "violence" he described, Cary Police Chief Ron Delelio said. The essay contained no specific threats but was "disturbing and inappropriate," he said.

The paper allegedly made a vague reference to a fictional school shooting in McHenry County but didn’t specify a school or district, a law enforcement source said."

After reading the full article, I was just struck wanting a lot more information than what they were giving me in order for me to decide for myself whether or not the teacher's reactions were just.

1. What was in the essay exactly? It is later exposed that the police are denying to release a copy of the essay... and I say why? Why are we not to hear exactly what the essay said that was "so disturbing" but we can easily post up pictures of an angry boy waving two guns angrily in the air all over national television?

2. Several keywords pop up to me and spark my curiousity as to what led the police to bring criminal charges against Lee. "no specific threats" if there were no threats, than why be alarmed? "disturbing and inappropriate" what exactly made is "disturbing"? We watch movies with women getting trapped in caves and getting their hearts ripped out - that's disturbing. Somebody had to have written that screenplay. And inappropriate for who? For what? The assignment? Didn't it say "free-writing assignment" above? Isn't that what free-writing means? To have no assignment of subject? "vague reference" even as slight as a reference that he might have possibly made - you decided to arrest this kid on a Tuesday morning...they even admitted to it being "fictional"

3. For one, you gotta give credit to the kids in his school who petitioned to have him let out of jail. Lee posted bond at $75 (most expensive essay I've ever seen) and is awaiting his court hearing on June 18th.

4. This quote:
"Disorderly conduct can be filed if someone’s actions alarm or disturb another enough to "provoke a breach of the peace," McHenry County State’s Attorney Louis Bianchi said. "So far, we’re supportive" of the charge, he said."

Somehow I just don't think that this kid Lee would want to hand a paper in with the thought of wanting to be found out even if he was going to do a school shooting. But I could be wrong.

I definitely feel like they are being over zealous here. It is quite an interesting factor that Lee is also Asian American. I can't help but think there was something to do with that ...or that it at least was one of the deciding factors that led to the teacher's decision of waking up the principal in the middle of the night after reading the essay.

It is sad that it came to this though. In general, I feel like teachers, and parents should be taking a more active role in the things the students say or do. That it has always been an area where there has been some sense of neglect. And now all of a sudden, splattered with a portrait of a boy who was troubled and never listened to - we jump at the nearest fright that we think could be there.

I can't wait to see how Lee's court day pans out.

Thursday, April 26, 2007

How To Fit Your Life's Story in Four Lines

I am staring at this Appeal Suspension of Aid form on my desk at work. I should be worried about my deadline for these four files today, or the fact that my tracking report is due tomorrow and not even half of it is completed yet. But I can't take my eyes off this damn form.

The words "suspension of aid" look and sound so ugly. Like some sort of anti-financial aid disease. I felt my heart sink down to my stomach when I saw it on my online transcript this morning. I figured I'd be proactive since the Financial Aid office last night told me that I wouldn't be able to apply for a student loan until June 4th, and just log on to the student website to see what type of financial aid availability I had.

Let's, none, perhaps?

And now here I am with this form in front of me that I need to fill out to appeal the school's decision made back in the fall of 2005.

There is so much that has happened in the past year and a half and even the prior year leading up to that semester. But I only have four empty available lines to explain myself. The process is so frustrating.

In four lines, can I tell you how it felt to be kicked out of my parents' house the night before my 19th birthday because my mother said "You hate me because I am white..." not because I ever made her feel that way but because of some innate guilt that she had formed from adopting me? Or how she threw all my clothes in trash bags and let them sit in the frontyard while it poured rain? And how that night I had to sneak into my father's place of stay (my uncle's home) because my uncle "has a thing against Asian people"?

In four lines, could I tell you how my mother refused to let me back in the house to obtain my textbooks (books that I paid for with my own money) so that I could study for final exams?

In four lines, do you think you'd care that I had to find a ride to the school library, sat there at the computer and wrote emails to all my teachers to explain the situation and only had one teacher respond?

Probably not. And that's what's so difficult. There are no words I could use in just four lines that could ever amount to how I feel right now. That could equal the want and the desire that I have to learn and to better myself now more than ever after having dealt with my obstacles and trying to get back on my educational feet.

But I'll try. It's worth the world to me to at least try.

And so I begin to fill those four lines...

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Do You Remember...?

It might have been two years ago but when I close my eyes and listen to the same songs that came across that beat-up radio sitting propped against the freshly painted walls you had just painted that night - it seems like it was just yesterday.

"Thanks for inviting me..." I whispered, pressing my face against your arm. I'd only tell you that while you were sleeping so you wouldn't realize how one night with you in a deserted house with endless painting supplies could mean so much to me. It's something that even I had a hard time understanding. All I knew was that I felt happy...and completely content and safe.

That's all I can remember now. You, me, the summer wind, a fuzzy radio station, and the feeling of utter happiness and elated joy. I love memories that end that way.

Monday, April 23, 2007


"My soul, is as open as the sky.
Often time, it's just as blue.
People tell me, I need to keep on dreamin'.
That's just what I'm gonna do."
-Amos Lee, "Dreamin'"

"So that is the xA," the man said as I stepped out of the white "Suburu Outback-mini me" and closed the driver's side door.

"What do you think?" I could hear my mother's voice from the other side of the car.

"I love it. It fits me perfectly," I said. Perfectly, except for one thing.

I had no idea how I was going to bring it up. I didn't even really want to. And the whole car buying experience was always something that I dreaded. It had this intimidating "Meet-The-Parents" feel to it and I would have rather not been bothered with it. But at the same time, I always viewed it as this right of passage event that would help mold the future for yourself - like a Quince party or a Bar Mitzvah. This whole ordeal would certainly mold my future, alright. I didn't realize how freakin' nervous I had become.

"So, you like the car. Is there anything else I can help you with? Any more questions?" the guy looked like he was sweltering in his blue denim Toyota/Scion shirt.

"Well, actually," I started. Where was my voice? Where did it go? I was clinging to my purse for lack of anything better to fumble with. Let's start this thing over.

"Actually, I was wondering about your mobility program. I read on the website that you have a Mobility Financial program and I was wondering more about it," and then here comes the part that made me choke up, "The MVA recently put a restriction on my license, and since I have a slight physical disability (lump in my throat enlarges) they have recommended that I get a left foot accelerator placed on the car. So I wanted to see how much I could get in financing, and how much this car would cost to get a better feel of my financial situation."

There, it was said. "Slight physical disability"

"I actually don't know too much about that, to be honest with you," he said.

Gee, well that makes two of us, Mister.

Basically, it comes down to this:
One left foot accelerator (parts alone) : $357 - $545
Labor: $500 - $1000 (I am guessing, only because I have to go to a "special" auto shop that puts on adaptive equipment)
My pride: Priceless

I know this sounds a bit silly. To be 21 and talking of pride, especially knowing that I am not the pioneer in driving adaptive equipment...and even moreso knowing how much adaptive equipment my brother is going to need later down the road.

But just for a second, let me humor myself. Back at GS Hospital, with the lady sitting there next to me, after we played "Finish-The-Picture" and "One-Of-These-Things-Is-Not-Like-The-Other" with black and white pictures, she made her diagnosis.

"I think would need some...hand controls," she said in a way that made her sound like she was pulling this wonderful trick out of her big black bag of adaptive equipment magic.

I was stunned (for lack of a better word). It just...killed me to the core.

"No, I don't think I need hand controls," I somehow found my voice and tried my best to make it a "don't - F -with - me" tone, "I think I would do much better with a left foot accelerator. I have heard that they make those, don't they?"

"Hm, that is a very good suggestion. I never thought of that." Yeah, I'm sure you didn' know with all the concrete impressions of me you've created being a mentally-retarded and incompetent person based on what's written on medical records.

I made sure to watch as she wrote "left foot accelerator" on the paperwork she was faxing to the MVA.
When I was four years old, I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. A doctor and the girl without the leg braces.

I told my mother that when I got older, I never wanted to feel plastic and velcro around my legs again, never wanted to wear large body casts, and use a walker or canes anymore.

"Mommy, when I get older I will wear any shoes that I want to wear!" I used to cry every morning while putting on the big orthopedic shoes that were two sixes too big in order to fit over the plastic leg braces.

The doctors told me at a very early age (possibly because I complained so much to them) that the outcome of me never wearing braces again was slim to none. I had horrible balance when I walked without them. My right leg had become the anchor that weighed down my childish energy and tied me back from running as fast as I felt that I could. The muscles along my right calf and hamstrings were tight and stiff, and left me walking around much like the spooky Frankenstein at Halloween...with heavy feet and a heavy heart.

I refused to let that get to me though. I kept telling myself that it was okay to dream - to believe that no matter what people said, I'd learn how to walk without leg braces if it was the last thing I did.

Five years later, I proved them all wrong.

"It's a risky situation," Dr. S warned me, pressing his glasses into his face even further, the way he does when he is contemplating something very serious, "you could either come out of this tibia rotation surgery with full mobility... or extremely limited mobility. I won't know until I go in there and see everything for myself."

"I really want to do this," I said, nodding my head for what seemed like the upteenth time. I was nine. I didn't know what color socks I wanted to wear in the morning or which new Barbie I wanted for Christmas but I knew this. I knew I wanted to walk without braces.

Five or so hours later, I emerged in full out pain. I think it was the worst pain I had ever experienced to this day. I felt like my right leg was being ripped from its socket, and twisted and stabbed at with a knife. But when I looked down, all I saw was a huge white body cast from my waist all the way down to my toes.

It would take a year after my recovery from surgery before I learned how to walk all over again. I started crawling at four weeks post surgery...which basically meant that I would creep on my arms and my hands like a soldier in the line of enemy fire, the rest of my body immobilized to lay flat.

I kept the dream alive though. Every stumble, every fall, every time I wanted to give up, I remembered that I had promised myself that I would walk without braces...walk without any sort of help at all.

I think of my first day of getting my first "real" pair of shoes as a rebirthing. I can never forget how the tears felt running down my face as I slipped on my very first black patent leather shoes and felt the soles against my skin. No thick and heavy plastic in between, no velcro straps cutting into my skin. It was me, my feet, and my shoes. I spent the entire day in the basement of my parents' house, tapping against the hard floor to hear the sounds, to feel the movement and to bask in the dream that I had made a reality.

So I'll keep dreaming...and I know one day soon, I'll be driving...and I can't wait to prove them all wrong again.

Sunday, April 22, 2007

The $150.00 Connect-The-Dots game

I don't think my life could get anymore complicated at this point. I went to the GS Hospital on Friday morning to get the "clinical rehab evaluation" through this MVA-certified program. First off, that alone is a bunch of bull sh*t because the first lesson I ever learned from this is that "honesty to NOT the best policy". Just because it says "cerebral palsy" on my records, and the technical term of "spastic diplesia" makes it sound even worse... the MVA decided all on their own that despite a letter from my doctor writing specifically that he thought I was capable of driving - that they needed me to attend a rehab facility to show that I was capable to them.

So I walk in, sit down, wait for this woman. She comes out, smiles politely and then leads me into this room.

We sit there and she suddenly sits down in front of me and realizes that...I am not as "slightly mentally retarded" as she thought I was going to be. As she chuckles out of pure uneasiness she looks at her paper holding her pen above it and asks, "So...why are you here, exactly?"

"Ma'am, quite honestly, I have no clue. The MVA just saw two little words of Cerebral Palsy and started freaking out. So they placed a hold on my license, and here I am."

"Well, wait, I see you've already completed and received a certificate for a Driver's Ed that means you've had in-driving instruction already?"

"Yes, I have."

" in that case, I am not going to require that you take the driver's assessment testing already have proof that you can drive," she said for her own relief more than mine.
That's awesome, I thought. I get to save myself $150 dollars and I am not too stressed out or nervous then. Cha-ching.

"Okay, let's begin the clinical assessment. It's just going to be testing your cognitive abilities," she said, spinning around in her chair with a black binder and some pages. She turned the table around and sat in front of me placing the pages on the table flat.

Now let me give you some insight - my thoughts on this clinical test in the very beginning were skeptical...but as time wore on, I tried to find some good in it, some sensible reasoning behind it. Thus, I began to think that possibly, it had to do something with the clinical testing that I had done in the past as a child. Being hooked up to a machine with wires to test brain activity, being asked a series of psychological questions to test my ability to answer and handle myself in an "average/above normal" fashion. So here I was, bracing myself for whatever this lady had in store for me...

"Here ya go! This is the beginning of the test. This will be timed now. Please connect the dots 1 through 15 as fast you can," she said whipping out the paper and placing it in front of me while handing me a pen.

I freaked out. Inwardly...but freaked out. Out of pure disgust/pride/surprise/horror [please continue to insert whatever horrible emotion you can here], I paused. I am sure my slight pause in reaction probably embalmed her assumptions of me being an utter retard even further into the recesses of her brain, but I just couldn't contain my surprise.

As I connected dot 14 to dot 15 she exclaimed, "Wow, that was fast!" Not even trying to hide her incredulous tone.

Then she whips out another paper. At this point, I was still in shock over the first...and was praying to give her my slight good graces of hope when...

"Okay, now this is a bit trickier now. That's why I am giving you an example first so you can get a good feel," she explained, "This one...this one involves matching numerics and the alphabet..."

What?! Wait a minute...what is going on? Is this a joke? Is Ashton Kutcher along with J, Gen, or Cheryl, or hell, even L-Boogie going to come out from behind the curtain and shout "You've Been Punk'D!"

No, sadly.

There were more tests to be done. More degrading tests.

As I walked out to the front desk the girl at the computer said, "Miss, I am ready whenever you are..."

I walked up with my purse and glimpsed over at the receipt she was writing out.

"It will be $150.00 total today."

I felt my stomach start to get queasy as I signed the check and handed her the most I have ever spent on a connect-the-dots game.

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

We all must be alike...

It's 10:55 AM, the day after the V Tech shootings, and I can count about a dozen or more websites, and comments that have been made (either to me or collectively) about "Are all your people like that?" or "I told you immigration was a huge issue - we should be protecting our country from immigrant weirdos like that guy"...

Is anyone else bothered that the immediate reaction to the shooter being an Asian guy (it hasn't been concluded what nationality the shooter was, although I have been sent several links ruling him as either Korean or Chinese) is that he was a terrorist, with no human characteristics and that the issue isn't about how he got the guns, or gun control, or even that there is not a high level of security like we thought in our children's schools - but that we need to be stricter about immigration and that it HAS to be that he was an immigrant, and let's go attack his family because they have to be here illegally?

What happened with Columbine happened? We made each other feel like complete idiots because for whatever reason - somebody decided to make the two idiots that were dressed in black trench coats and guns the victims. "Aww, poor guys, they must have been teased. They must have been faced with so much depression over their life that led to this tragedy...that has to be the explanation"

It's just upsetting when the resulting outcome of a horrible and unfortunate circumstance is ignorant hatred and immediate prejudice accusations.

Update: The shooter was a Korean male. Now all of a sudden the forums are sprouting with bouts of racism. Ignorant people making ignorant statements. It's truly something to be sad about.

In the heat of the situation, let us not forget the lives that were lost here. 32 people gave their lives - and it was possibly motivated by something as simple as a cheating lover (as several reports have said, it was due to a falling out with an ex-girlfriend but I am not sure if that has been confirmed yet).

I heard on NPR that the two professors that were shot dead were world-renown. One of them was from Israel and one of them was from India - highly regarded men of their profession. It's devastating to know that such greatness is at loss.

And to all the students at V-Tech, my prayers, my thoughts are with you.

Thursday, April 12, 2007

The Barber of Seville can set you free...

Ahhh...nothing like a decent haircut. Although TL's suggestion was outta sight (and I plan on tackling my closet in the next couple of weeks to make room for new Spring/Summer clothing), I think my haircut was effective in its own right.

Who knew that chopping off a few inches, adding some awesome layers and a brand new spiffy bottle of hair mousse/gel/whatever-it-is would help me to feel so much more...light?

I felt amazingly spirited afterwards.

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

I'm not one to boast of love for bulging abs but...

I have found this "schoolgirl crush" has awakened within me...

Not only is "300" one of the most gory, terrifically heroic movies I have seen in a long time (because essentially, I am a man's woman, and love the blood, and the heads chopping off, as long as it's not someone getting shot directly in the head: ie; in "Munich") but it has some of the finest specimens of men that I have ever seen.

Good was like a wet dream's final dream: Imagine 300 gorgeously ripped and sweaty (bloody and scratched, too. Nothing is more appealing than a man who knows how to work hard) all running towards the screen in nothing but capes and ...loincloth looking attire. FANTASTIC!

Particularly, the Scot whose dubbed Gerard Butler.

Although of course, as I predicted, there was some buffering going on in the movie production suites.

This is Gerard without grease and oil:

And this is with:

There are yet even more delicious photos to be found across the World Wide Web - and I will seek to find them. :-)

Guys have Angelina Jolie...why can't I have my Gerard Butler?

Monday, April 9, 2007

Easter is gone...a new birth and a new leaf has been turned over...

Well Easter has come and gone. I have no idea where it went. I just remember sitting in the basement of my parent's house, watching my little brother play Wii and wondering why I was there...

Easter just isn't what it was in the 80's. The Easter bonnets were still big then, with the loud ass ribbon print in my hair and the loud floral print on the dress with the extra light pink lace around the collar and the sleeves. Oh Lord, the sleeves were puffed like cream puff pies and my socks with white eyelet with the damn black or white patent leathers that you got at the local shoe store where your parents knew the owners by name.

Now, Easter has become just another Sunday that my family finds it pertinent to torture each other with the other one's presence. Literally, the moment I walked into the kitchen with my older brother the insults started spewing: about my clothes, my jewelry, my shoes, my make up...every single thing. It didn't bother me to the point of tears or being depressed or crawling in the fetal position, nor did it maim me in any permanent emotional did however get on my nerves and under my skin. But I kept my mouth shut. I just walked around the kitchen, got my plate of food and walked off.

Before Easter, A's baby was born!! Welcome to the world Baby Jackson! You're as cute as all the other adorable critters in your family! J said that he was a super happy baby, so I am so siked to finally get to see him in person and hold the lil' tyke.

As for the new leaf... I am just gonna start looking to find someone I am comfortable talking to. I think it's just that I need someone to hash shit out with, quite honestly. I completely understand my surroundings, and how people work and how they think (the people I have to interact with on a daily basis) but in terms of how to deal with it, I get lost now and again. Because just like me, those people are always changing. My parents are changing...whether its for the best or the worst I have yet to decide, but now I have no idea where to channel all of my energy anymore. They just drain me just...looking at them. And since they are my parents, there is really no other alternative except to deal - unless I were to move to an entirely different continent and even then, I am sure my mother would try to email me a ten paged letter about how much worse her life is than everyone else's. ...So that's my goal. It's not that I am completely discontent with my life right now ( as I said previously), but that I am discontent with how I am approaching things...the people, parents, to be more exact. My family to be even more precise.

Besides all that, it's Monday... and I am already ready for the weekend.

Thursday, April 5, 2007

Waking up to Blogality

That's right...Blogging + reality = blogality.

This is my space to be truthful, and I have never been one to hide my inner-workings or idiosyncracies. I have never been one to tuck the problems underneath the rug and keep them hidden behind closed doors.

I have always been the one that trips constantly on the concrete sidewalk paths, and then takes pictures of the gashes and bruises to remind myself that I am vincible, and am living and in the flesh. I am the one who when she was sad, would write about it in my journal, in my my blog. No bars, no questions, no...restraints.

So I wonder when this sense of urgency hits - the urgency to censor one's self from being honest - brutally, completely honest and raw. What happened to my ability to lower my guard down and share my pain, my struggle, my gains, and my trophies with everyone? Is it age? Is it experience? Is it both?

I read some of these blogs that are linked on my friend's pages, and I am in awe of how beautifully raw each writer/blogger portrays him/herself. I almost forgot how amazing it feels when words can set you free.

I've forgotten how therapeutic this was. To sit and write, and just - crunch it out. Let that tip of my pen write all the composting waste it could possibly squeeze from my brain so that somewhere in there, the compost would turn to soil, and in turn, the soil would nurture something beautiful: a poem, a story, a prose piece...a sonnet, a sestina, a triolet.

I will start from now on then: to write how I feel and restraints:

Sub-Blog Post (a.k.a. Blogette) best tasted if with a nice cup o' joe and some rich cream cheese.

It took me a matter of five minutes to go onto my health insurance's website to find the listing of local psychologists. It has taken two days, and counting to figure out which one to try next.

The first one I went to, she was a mess. I think she needed as much help as I did at the time, trying to figure herself out and all that. The first one I went to, my mom had found for me - through her therapist. Let me tell you that it can never and will never end good if your mother insists on picking out your therapist. One of life's little lessons learned.

I can't shake how many names were on there. I guess I should be grateful for good insurance that has a wide coverage - but at the same time, it's hard to pick from a list of names who you're going to feel safe enough to tell all your problems to, and who of those Ph D.s are going to understand you at least a little bit.

After a while I found myself just wanting to close my eyes, wiggle my finger around in the air and let it land on a name, any one of them, and say "Okay, you look like a nice doctor to expose my whole life story to, Mr. Apple....bottom?"

[shaking myself out of bad visual experience]

Okay. Should I take the time to say that I am not crazy? I had spent 2 hours in an impromptu session with my mother's psychologist for her to tell me what I already knew: you're not crazy, EJ, your parents are.

So why having to check myself into a psychologist now? Because I feel completely overwhelmed suddenly. With work, with school, with the direction that I want to go in...I have found myself in the last few months coming across those online surveys (you know those annoying things that your coworkers send you for lack of anything better to do, save for the piles of work on your desk that you'd much rather stare at) and coming to that question that goes something like "Where do you see yourself in the next ten years?".

Mind you, it's just an online's not God knocking on my door, nor is it my parents (although they ask the same question from time to time)...but I still freak out. It still grips me and I find myself sitting there wondering - "well, hell...where do I see myself in the next ten years?" Quite honestly, I have goals...I know where I want to be...but I am not sure if I have all that it takes to get there. I know that sounds terrible, admitting something like that. I never used to be that person. I used to be the sure-of-herself, go-out-and-get-'em kinda gal...and I think that the past three years' events (lots of drama and lots of truths coming from my family, yada, yada, yada) have all finally just hit me. As if the actual events happened in the past three years but my emotions are just now catching up.

Which is why, sans PMS, I can often find myself watching a comedy on TV and suddenly burst out into tears and go "why?!" to some event that specifically happened somewhere in someplace within the past three years. Is this making any sense? At any rate, I just feel better writing it out and I don't care at this point if it makes any sense here.

Perhaps what I am getting at is that the last three years have not all been bad, they have been filled with awesome, incredible and sweet memories for me. I have met some amazing people and have been blessed to have them in my life and I will always love those close to me...but I think when you're tested so much in such a short time you suddenly are faced with questions that you never had to answer before about your character, and about who you are. I guess I lost myself in the translation.

So what to do now? Continue flipping through this 15-paged booklet of names ...or try to work this out on my own? I know I am not the first person to feel this "lose all sense of self", to "find my identity". Jeeesus, I'm a KAD for crying out loud.

Poem Draft #1

The homeless man wedged up against the plastic seat
on the subway car's floor has become her distant family member.

She finds a strange comfort in her night rides through
the city's dark tunnels, the lights flashing
against the crusted pexi glass windows.
It is her sanctuary to be so close to
people who are breathing the same air,
living the life.

For at home, she is alone.

Tuesday, April 3, 2007

Can I please have one order of "exotic" Asian women with a side of kimchi?

What the hell is this bullshit that I see?

I stole this from the KAD email group that I am a part of - and it's completely the sickest thing I have seen in a very long long long time.

No, although the site name could easily be assumed to that of a porn site, it isn't. (Sorry all you dude-blog-readers)

And no, it's not some sort of site to show pictures and articles on powerful, intelligent Asian women in today's society(because you know, it'd be asking way too much)...

It is a site that promotes a book entitled "How To Date An Asian Woman"...yes, folks, you know...because we are such odd species of the human woman that there needs to be a book on how to date us...

WTF?! I would take bits and pieces from the site to show you how ridiculous this truly is. But then again, this alone is pretty damn ridiculous ...and I thought quotes might be a bit excessive.

Is it really almost Easter?

I can't believe how fast time is flying. I found myself waking up on Sunday morning, and slipping into my unni's office rubbing my eyes as I stared at the corner of her laptop at the time and the date. it really April 1st?

What has become of time? Why does it seem so fleeting all of a sudden, as if I blink and in that instant, an entire year has gone by. We are almost hitting the six-month mark of 2007 and I have yet to find something to show for it and all of my efforts thus far. I feel like for the most part of this year, I have been completely unproductive in all the ways that I wish that I was.

That goes to say, I spent most of Saturday and Sunday curled up on my unni's humongous velvet brown couch clutching the oversized pillows and watching Korean dramas while snacking on squid chips and cookies all day.

Eh...productive, what?

Yet another song is stuck in my head:

6 AM, day after Christmas
I throw some clothes on in the dark
The smell of cold, carseat is freezing-
the world is sleeping...
I am numb.

Up the stairs to her apartment
She is balled up on the couch.
Her mom and dad went down to Charlotte.
They're not home to find us out.

And we drive,
now that I have found someone
I'm feeling more alone
than I ever before...

She's a brick and I'm drowning slowly
off the coast and I'm headed no where
She's a brick and I'm drowning slowly

They call her name
its 7:30
I pace around the parking lot
and I walk down to buy her flowers
and sell some gifts that I got.

Can't you see?
Its not me you're dying for
Now she's feeling more alone
than she ever has before...

She's a brick and I'm drowning slowly
off the coast and I'm headed nowhere.
She's a brick and I'm drowning slowly...

As weeks went by it showed that she was not fine
They told me "Son, it's time to tell the truth..."
And she broke down
And I broke down
'Cause I was tired of lying

Driving back to her apartment
for the moment, we're alone
she's alone, and I'm alone
and now I know it...

She's a brick and I'm drowning slowly
off the coast and I'm headed nowhere
She's a brick and I'm drowning slowly...

-Ben Folds Five