Conversations with Myself

Me: Hey Nightdreamer.

Nightdreamer: Hey Shun, what’s up?

Me: Shun? Interesting of you to call me by that name.

Nightdreamer: I figured that of all your nicknames (there are 4 of them, right?) Shun is the one you most often use when you’re online.

Me: I guess so. (Yep, 4.)

Nightdreamer: So, what’s up? You haven’t been saying many things to me lately.

Me: Yeah, sorry about that. My attention’s been diverted to somewhere else.

Nightdreamer: Why thanks durrr, that made me feel great.

Me: Oops! Didn’t mean to be so blunt. I mean, I only half meant it, and –

Nightdreamer: Whatever. Don’t need to be so defensive…

Me: I’m truly sorry.

Nightdreamer: …but I understand that it’s Plurk you’re too obsessed with lately, huh?

Me: Yeah, it is. I have to fight my addiction with it.

Nightdreamer: You have to. So, are you telling me something else? Or is this another one of those times where you whine about how much you’re down with another drought of inspiration?

Me: Hah, no. I admit not being able to think very clearly lately, but uninspired? Nah.

I am actually gonna tell you that, last Friday, I brought home 24 cans of Coke Zeroes.

Nightdreamer: The hell! You a cokehead?

Me: Haha.

Nightdreamer: How much did they cost you?

Me: I got them free.

Nightdreamer: …

Me: Yeah.

Nightdreamer: There’s a story behind this, isn’t there? (more…)

My Favorite Things

I’m not really in the mood to compose anything elaborate, coz, bloody hell, that can be sooo tedious, and I’m trying to let some topics (nothing overly serious, though) marinate for a while.

Instead, I’m gonna state a few of my favorite things. And why is that important? A) So you can know my tastes on various things. B) So you can see what I’m interested at. And C) so you can know where I’m coming from whenever I praise or criticize.

So without further delay, my favorite…

Colors: blue, yellow and green (but not together!)

Music genres: jazz, of course

Musical instruments: piano, saxophone, and trumpet

Writers: Alan Moore, Cole Porter, Truman Capote, Toni Morrison, Philip K Dick, and F Scott Fitzgerald

Musicians: Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Bill Evans, Stevie Wonder, Thelonious Monk, Gil Scott Heron, The Beatles, and Erykah Badu

Movies: (too many to mention, but on top of my head) A Clockwork Orange, Sin City, Raise the Red Lantern, Dark City, Gattaca, Grave of the Fireflies, Pan’s Labyrinth, Children of Heaven, and Hotel Rwanda

Animes: Cowboy Bebop, Trigun, Hajime no Ippo, Fullmetal Alchemist and Hikaru no Go

Mangas: Slam Dunk, Ruruoni Kenshin, and GTO

Comics: Batman Year One, Batman The Killing Joke, V for Vendetta, Watchmen, Batman The Long Holloween, Gotham Central, Fables, Y The Last Man, and 100 Bullets

Books: In Cold Blood, Black Boy, The Bartimaeus Trilogy, The Great Gatsby, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Catcher in the Rye, Fight Club, To Kill a Mockingbird, Slaughterhouse Five, A Scanner Darkly, Sci Fi Hall of Fame Volume 2A, Battle Royale, and Fahrenheit 451

Videogames (in terms of gaming mechanics alone): The Lost Vikings, Donkey Kong Country 1 and 2, Super Mario Brothers 3 and Super Mario Brothers World, Sly Cooper 3: Honor Among Thieves, Hitman: Blood Money, Monkey Island 2, Fire Emblem, and Uncharted Waters

Videogames (in terms of story): Final Fantasy VI, Valkyrie Profile, Suikoden II, Final Fantasy X, Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney, Final Fantasy Tactics (despite the horrible translation), Metal Gear Solid 3, Indiana Jones and the Fate of the Atlantis, Grandia, Chrono Trigger, and Persona 3

Fighting videogames: Street Fighter 2, Street Fighter Alpha 3, Street Fighter 3: Third Strike, King of Fighters 2003, Guilty Gear XX, Soul Calibur 2, Mortal Kombat 2, Samurai Shodown 4, The Last Blade 2, and Killer Instinct 

Illustrators: Yoshitaka Amano, Jo Chen, Michael Lark, Eduardo Risso, and Chris Bachalo

This can go on and on, but I’m stopping now. 

My Brother’s Words

This is what my brother told me a while ago: 

What this world sorely lack is understanding. Everyone’s too eager to talk, to voice out their opinions, but rarely does one sit down and listen. 

Batman

I’m weary of the excess of movies based on comics, but I want to see The Dark Knight. I’m so stoked about The Dark Knight, I’m avoiding from watching its trailer again, because everytime I do so I cry, “can’t July come any sooner!” I’m not young, and wishing time to fast forward isn’t good for my well-being. 

Still I wish I could timewarp to July and then watch this movie and then timewarp back to June and then resume living this day (June 25, 2008) as a normal but a happier guy. Too bad no such technology exists. Fine, then, maybe Christopher Nolan would be so kind as to grant me an exclusive screening in a room for me alone, or maybe accompanied by a bunch of supermodels dressed up as Poison Ivy, Catwoman, Huntress, Oracle, Batgirl, Renee Montoya, and Harley Quinn. 

Don’t be surprised if I sound like I’m more than just acquainted with the Batman universe: of all superheroes, Batman is my favorite, and I have long been collecting his graphic novels. I like Batman not because he is always likeable — hey, he’s quite the jerk sometimes; I like him because stories about him or his city are very somber, film-noir-like, and psychological. And I dig that kind of crap. 

So what about The Dark Knight gets me excited? Look at the characters: Harvey Dent, Joker, Batman/Bruce Wayne, and Commissioner Gordon. Now imagine all the possibilities! Yes, Bruce and Gordon appear in all Batman stories anyway. But, Harvey Dent and Joker, in the same movie, but only one is the main antagonist, while the other slowly becomes one? ZOMGZ! Did you know that some of the finest stories in Batman involve these two psychos? So, yeah, I want to see how this film is gonna depict Harvey Dent’s fall from grace. And I’m raring to see Heath Ledger’s final role, as Batman’s insane arch-nemesis. 

But since I can only pine, you know what I’ll do? Reread the hell out of the finest Batman comics about Joker. You can do that too, so that when you see the movie, you can throw fits everytime the movie diverged from the source materials! And then you can kick the chair in front of you until the security locks you up in Arkham. 

And here’s where I tell you what Joker stories to read.

First, it’s Batman: The Killing Joke. It’s written by Alan Moore, the same guy who did V for Vendetta and Watchmen. You have always known Joker as that psycho clown who kills without remorse, right? Well, here, you’ll read about why Joker is like that. It shows you his past – how he ended up being Joker - and it also shows you another of his plot to terrorize Gotham, this time by trying to make Gotham’s most righteous person lose his mind. It’s a horrifying tale, and it’s not meant for kids, but it triumphs because it makes you feel sorry for Joker despite how despicable he is. 

But if you can, don’t buy The Killing Joke. What you need is to buy DC Universe: The Stories of Alan Moore, because it compiles, uh, DC Universe stories written by Alan Moore. The Killing Joke is in there, plus you’ll get to read some of the finest Superman, Green Lantern, and Swamp Thing short stories too. So it’s worth it.

When you’re done with The Killing Joke, you can buy Ed Brubaker’s Batman: The Man Who Laughs. This is a very fitting companion to The Killing Joke. Taking place after The Killing Joke’s past and before The Killing Joke’s present, The Man Who Laughs retells Batman’s first encounter with Joker, about how Joker began to change everything in Gotham City. My copy also has a nice episode about Batman and the very first Green Lantern, and it juxtaposes Gotham’s past and present very well. 

And when you’ve finished reading the two, then keep rereading and rereading them until the only thing you have in your mind is Joker’s nasty smile. And then, start laughing like a loon.

Suckered In

Hunger have begun to come back to me few days after I whined about its absence. Although I still haven’t been as much of a pig as I used to - a pig who manages not to be that fat, oy - I’ve feasted on curry last wednesday and on pizza yesterday. And that felt fine.

I also had a visit on the bookstore yesterday, and I opened up to two other customers and I had a swell time speaking with them. I also found F Scott Fitzgerald’s Great Gatsby. Oh, rapture! This is after searching for it over every major branches of all bookstores of Philippines. So I am waiting to be inspired again, be at the peak of whatever little prowess I have with writing, and compose numerous posts about different topics.

Hopes of that are dashed thanks to the latest time-sucking, productivity-killing Web application.

Plurk. It’s the new twitter. In fact, legend has it that twitter is made for plurk’s downtimes. Plurk is everything twitter has been, but made a lot more, because every plurk - what you post when you write a message - becomes a mini-message board. It’s such a romp, that I’ve been spending hours just using it. God help me. 

So yeah, if you also have a plurk, do add me up. My url is here. Now all I need is to find the will to update my blog more often.

A Need to be Hungry, the Reprise

In my previous post, I spoke of the physical lack of hunger I’ve been assailed with since last week. I will now talk about the more psychological one: a need to be hungrier for life.

And I mean that in the figurative sense.

Have you ever seen a cat taking a very erect stance as it anticipates for something? An unsuspecting mouse comes out and, as quickly as a blink, this cat starts pouncing on the mouse which has now become a prey? That cat’s intensity and ferocity are what I need. Right now, I feel less like a cat and more like a sheep that’s become enervated from eating wilted grasses.

Where this problem is most prominent is with my attitude about writing. No, I don’t intend to renounce this hobby - I’m actually reading a book about writing, again - but my interest with it needs a spike. I’ve been feeling rather low these days and the search for inspirations has been fruitless. This is not the same as writer’s block, oh no. Writer’s block is merely being unable to put two words together. Lacking inspiration is being able to write, and yet you feel your writings are soulless, like how every words has no purpose but to increase word counts and to foist an image of intelligence.

To be inspired is to be so hungry, that you just can’t wait to suck up every opportunity to polish your craft, until you let it create something worthy of being called art. I gauge this hunger by looking at my unfinished drafts. There are four. Two of them are short stories about music and a modern day Benjamin Button. One is a collection of new words I’ve learned. The last is a post about a friendship turned sour. On my inspired days, I view these unfinished drafts and I get overwhelmed by a desire to finish them. On days like today, I just shrug them off.

Inspirations are what I need, for in its absence life is a drably colored tapestry that everyone wants to get rid of. Maybe beauty will be returned to life when a change of sceneries comes. Things are looking up though, as next July, my sister will be going to Taiwan, and I just might skip an entire week of work and go meet her there.

PS. For samples of blog posts with thought-provoking formation of words, go visit John Silver’s “The One Rant Machine“. 

A Need to be Hungry

This title is not directed to starved countries - and that includes the Philippines, as much as the government want to delude you into believing otherwise. By all means, feed the hungry until the hunger goes away.

A harmonious world is a world where everyone can eat three meals a day. Much has been said about foods being the winners of hearts. Since last week, though, they couldn’t seem to win my heart.

I’m becoming anorexic.

Thanks to a less-than-competent hag, I’ve been having this cold for a week. For me, colds have always been mere bagatelle, and aside from giving me an uncontrolled overflow of mucous, I have never paid it much mind.

This time, though, my cold is different. I can tell. I need to feel a hunger before I eat. Since last week, I’ve never felt any hunger. I would go on many hours not eating, and would eat only because I felt that it was obligatory. And this is pretty bad. There are days when I see my favorite viands laid in front of me, yet I couldn’t consume them with my normal fervor, and eat only half as much as on normal days.

Yes, I can see that it’s making me lose weight, and I think I’ve become lighter than I was weeks before. But this is not how I want to lose weight. I want to lose weight by working out, by exercising until I have sweated profusely. It’s definitely healthier than not eating. I don’t want to go the way of Karen Carpenter.

What do I do?

You Just Don’t Think

Someone reacted unhappily to what I wrote about our Galera vacation. She said it was - and this is the part where I got dumbstruck - too offensive.

I did not want to attack anyone, and I believe that others who read that post knew that my intent was not to discredit. I wrote to chronicle, and to inform about what Galera is like.

I thought she could offer constructive criticisms, so I asked her to quote the words she disliked. She pointed my unfavorable opinions of the rooms that I and all guys, sans the boss, slept in. Okay, I didn’t like that room. It was shabby. It was cramped. Its blankets couldn’t warm the hairiest wolf-man. Its aircon housed rats and, when turned on, smelled suspiciously like dust (personally, if I know that an aircon is the sleeping quarters of vermins, I will not use it). I was being honest. What was I supposed to say, that that room was Shangri-la?

I had the sense neither to mention nor to blame the person who booked those rooms - the same girl who’s angry at me - because I thought she didn’t know beforehand how bad they were. But when she confronted me, she said she knew all along, and she intentionally chose those rooms for us. She reasoned that if we guys were made to sleep in a room as bad as those, we’d wake up earlier. Meanwhile, she and the rest of the girls got rooms that looked first-classed.

If you oversleep, what difference does it make if you’re slumbered on a bed that’s hard and if on a bed that’s soft? Evidence said, “None.” The guys who hibernated in previous year’s company outing? They hibernated on this year’s too. Look, you do not remove people’s oversleeping problems by having them sleep on a janitor’s cabinets, because that will not affect them. They’d sleep anywhere with a bed. Heck, they’d sleep standing up! You want to wake them up? You throw a bucket of ice on them, or prick a needle on their butt. But you do not goad to them drink beer all night and then expect them to wake up early. That’s the mother of half-assed expectations!

Meanwhile, think of those - like me - who do not fall asleep and remain asleep as easily. Think of this cold I had to fight off because of how awful our rooms were. And you see now who should’ve been angry.

My Friend Needs Help

Some time this year everyone was writing blog posts about singlehood frustrations. I think you know precisely in what month that happened. I was guilty of that myself. Right now, though, I feel that my private gripings about such occasion were such trivialties especially when I put myself in the shoes of my instructor from First Academy of Compuer Arts. My teacher Dennis taught me advanced HTML and if it wasn’t for him I wouldn’t know how to use Dreamweaver. He recommended me the guidebook that I use whenever I’m stumped with coding HTML’s and CSS’s.

He’s a friend. Maybe I haven’t proven myself trustworthy enough for him, but I want to help him in his time of need.

And right now, he needs help. At the 13th of February, this year, his wife had an accident, and she has been confined in the hospital ever since that day. It’s June now and I don’t want to bother you with the mathematics, but I think you can tell from the length of time just how serious this accident is. The hospital requires Dennis to pay such an astronomical price, his savings aren’t enough. I’ve met him since that day and I have personally seen how much this predicament has affected him.

So I’m donating money. That’s the very little way I can help him out. And if you can help too, you can go to his blog and read the details.

http://rescuemywife.blogspot.com/

Galera Galera

My cold may have something to do with this, but I was not contented about our company’s Puerto Galera (PG) outing. I had fun, on occasions. I thought some of the places we went to were great. But for a vacation, this just wasn’t revitalizing enough, as I didn’t feel my stress go away as I would when I go elsewhere. Someone I like was missing too, and… 

Well, nevermind that.

The roads were big reasons why this PG trip was tiring. If you wish to go to different places in PG, you need to take the jeep, and that means you’ll spend hours sitting inside moving vehicles (and that’s without considering the boat from Batangas to PG, and the ride from wherever you’re from to Batangas) until your buttocks are sore. Good luck enjoying the PG’s roads too, as they’re rocky and they zigzag too often, and they can easily give you motion sicknesses. Some of my coworkers grew so sick of the traveling, they puked. I didn’t, but I was dizzied for a long time.

That’s the summary. You want to read the long story? Then have some coffee with you, for this may take a while to finish.

Around 10 AM, we were at Puerto Nirvana Resort. Because we guys were so gentlemanly, we chose the rooms that were cheaper (and worse) than the ladies’. Ours resembled a cabin, and the beds were double-decked, which meant that the person at the bottom bed will be disturbed by the movement of whoever was on the top. And I was at the bottom. Great, noh? The rooms were so cramped, that I half-believed that I was on a ship complete with a captain who’d bark us orders during the morning’s wee hours. The air conditioner looked old too, and when someone turned it on, he was shocked to find a mouse scurry out of its louvers.

The resort wasn’t bad though. It had a videoke machine, a table for table tennis, a small eatery, a swimming pool barely the size of a Honda Civic, a half-court basketball court, and a half-assed billiard table with torn felts. It was adjacent to a beach too, although that beach wasn’t a top-notched one. Still, it’s always soothing to hear the surfs, and I spent long time doing just that.

Anyway, we had our team-building activities. The instructor instructed very vaguely, and his English was broken like Janina San Miguel’s. We barely knew what was happening, but the good part was that the activities made us go to Bulabod Beach and Tamarraw Falls.

Bulabod Beach was an under-populated beach. The only people there were its few inhabitants and us. There were no other guests. Although the sands were more like pebbles, nothing else about it makes it different to all other beaches. I don’t know why, but I never went to swim. All I did was lie down and play with a few beach-comber dogs. They were unusually friendly.

Tamarraw Falls is a cascading waterfall. I liked this place. We goofed around while bathing under the falls. The water was very cold and very clean.

The rest of the day was boring. Everyone went to our resort’s eatery and then got drunk. I’m an exception. I never am much of a drinker and I prefer enjoying the night doing different things, so this was the part where my Black Boy came in handy. I also played a few rounds of billiards and I didn’t do so badly at that.

The next morning’s activity was exciting. We went snorkeling! Yay! Step aside, Kanye West, this is how we use our killer mouth-breathing skills! The snorkeling lasted long, and I saw many kinds of marine creatures: starfishes, fishes of different sizes and colors, and coral reefs. So I didn’t see Lochness Monster and Kraken; still, I was spellbound with the sights of the undersea. That’s something I wouldn’t mind seeing for a longer time.

And then the time just fast forwarded like it’s nobody’s business. Nighttime came before we were even prepared for that. To enjoy our last evening at PG, some of us went to White Beach to chill out there. I decided, what the heck, I was bored with reading, so why not follow along. So I followed along.

In White Beach, there were a lot of what looks to me like outdoor bars. I wasn’t crazy about them. The last time I went to White Beach, which was in the late Nineties, it was quaint, and you can, in quiet, enjoy the sceneries of the beach. I don’t understand why people think it’s a good idea to “develop” this beach into one establishment of bars after another, and then make the whole place a gaudy convergence for lonely Caucasian singles in search of “exotic” Filipina brides. Just imagine if the same thing was done to Mt. Everest. You have people climbing to the top, so they can peacefully enjoy the panoramic view from the world’s highest peak, but then it has this bar that plays LOUD ASS TRANCE SONGS BY DJ TIESTO, as if the point of climbing a mountain that high was so that you can par-tayyyy. Anyway, I don’t give a damn about all the crap hiphop and the crap trance music these bars blast on their speakers. I don’t give a damn about drinking too (why go so far from the city doing things you can do inside the city?). And since there wasn’t anything else to do in White Beach, I hated that place.

I went back to our resort, and in my room I went. I tried to sleep, but only twisted and turned. People in the room were simply too noisy in their sleep. The person beside me snored like an elephant with a cocaine overdose. The person my feet points to talked in his sleep. And somebody from farther away also snored like the yawling of an angry chimpanzee. I couldn’t sleep! I really couldn’t! The best I could do was steal a 30-minute nap only to be awakened by an unbearably loud snoring. Before I knew it, the sky was already bright.

So the third day came, and I went home sleep deprived and with a rotten mood. And sick too.

Black Boy, and Way of the Shepherd

(I am down with a cold at the moment of writing this, so if you should find this post very rough and unedited, I say it now, that I’m sorry about that)

I’ve finished a couple of books this past couple of days.

The first book is Black Boy by Richard Wright. It’s an autobiography about how Richard Wright became a writer. I’m sure that after reading that sentence, you’ll say “that’s very interesting, Nightdreamer, but why should I care about how Richard became a writer?” Oh, that’s easy. Richard was a black man, and in his time - he was born when civil war was happening - it was all but unheard of for black people to read, let alone dream of being a writer. That was so, because racial inequality was very rampant during those times (to be honest, even on modern days, racial equality is an elusive case), and a black man’s only station in life was to become the servant of white people. In Richard’s case, he was often mistreated by white people, and looked down by black people because they think he’s crazy for even dreaming of becoming a writer. But it was precisely his unhapinness with all the people around him, regardless of what race, and of what beliefs, that had him becoming interested in reading and writing. I must warn you, though, that this is not a happy book. It is actually a very depressing one, since Richard mostly tells you about his disillusionment with pretty much everything: white people, black people, religion, the South, the North, democracy, and communism. It’s not all whining, though, as he mentions the solutions of how to fight for the rights of black people. He also has a good sense of humor, although most of the funnies are only in the early chapters. As for the writing, for someone who’s had to self-study everything about writing, he sure is one great writer, so much that he is among the most influential American writers of all time. I’ve read people on newspapers who pale in comparison to him. Heck, there aren’t a great deal of modern contemporary writers who can equal his writing skills. 

The other book is… well, surprise, surprise! I’ve actually finished a business book this time. It’s Way of the Shepherd by Kevin Leman and William Pentak. People who know me personally are aware that I am never a big fan of business books. I label most of them as boring overindulgent corporatese-ridden documents. Way of the Shepherd is never going to have a better writing than Black Boy, of course, but it is a rare business book that I find very readable from start to finish. I don’t know if the story it tells is factual or not, but the message is clear nonetheless: that you can learn to become good leaders by following the rules on how to become a good shepherd. There are seven rules. Geez, why is it always seven? The tips are practical and easy to follow, and at less than 150 pages, this book never overwhelms. Some passages are a bit on the hokey side, though, but that can be overlooked. 

Those are the last two books I’ve finished. Now I need to get back to sleep and have my petty sickness nursed.

I View the Morning With Such Alarm

I woke up uncharacteristically early. I had to, because I was home, and I need an hour to go back to my office and wait for all of my coworkers. We have to be here 3:45, and by 4:00 AM, we’ll be going outside the city and will stay outside the city for 3 days. 

Company vacation, what else. 

Considering 2:00 is always the hour I’m least expected to be awake, I’m not so happy to report that I defied my usual sleeping pattern quite well a while ago. At 2:30 I left, trying not to disturb the remaining tenants of my place. 

And then I was outdoors and the breeze of early morning was dank. No one was in my sight when I walked the streets. The city looked so dirty and so abandoned. There were litters scattered all over the road. Darn them litterbugs, there is no such “omnipresent janitor” person who will clean up all of their messes. The possibility just does not exist, the trashes are just too numerous and varied. 

I’ll be staring at the sea for the next two days. I hope it’s not as polluted as the city, but lately, I’ve hearing a lot of bad things about Puerto Galera.

In Cold Blood

Here’s something you can do just for kicks: Go to a coffee shop (preferably Starbucks). Approach any customer, but try to choose the ones who look like those pretending to be so well-read. Tell them you’ve been reading a book called In Cold Blood (by Truman Capote), and that it’s about to get a film adaptation soon (a lie), and that it has detectives, serial killers, conspiracies, spies, narrow escapes, hot sexes, car chases, big boobied and quick witted women, martial arts, gadgets, and boozes. Make sure you’ve got some extra copies of the book with you. But, change the cover, and make it look like the airport reads Dan Brown’s books are. Paste images of eyes, running guys, binaries, bloods, guns, and torn objects. Show the extra copies, and say you’re selling them. Now watch them sell by the bucketloads, and laugh as you imagine the buyers’ horror-suffused faces when they finally find out what the book is really about. 

Though In Cold Blood sounds like a macho-fantasy book, its story is nowhere like that. Yes, there are detectives and murderers, but it is not a whodunit story and the murderers’ identities are revealed in the first pages. Instead, it is a psychological study of the murderers and the people who know the victims. 

If you like stories that stick to your mind, read In Cold Blood. If you want to know the nature of American violence, read In Cold Blood. If you want to read about why people are driven to kill without motives, read In Cold Blood. If you want to witness one of the finest writings ever seen in any book, read In Cold Blood. Regardless of who you are and where you stand, read In Cold Blood. 

I hope I’ve made that clear enough for you.

Nightdreamer

…is taking a few days of exile from the blogging community. He’ll be back in a couple of days. Maybe Thursday. He just feel like there’s something that needs his immediate attention, and loath as he is to do this, writing blogs has to be shoved aside for now.

So before he takes the break, he’d like to show you an IM conversation that’s got him quite entertained. 

rockerliteratechick: bzuh. im totally going to regret not studying during the summer.
nightdreamer: hehe
nightdreamer: it happens to me all the time, when i was still in college
rockerliteratechick: i never really studied in college.
nightdreamer: you mean this is no longer for college?
nightdreamer: oh wait, i forgot. you’ve graduated.
rockerliteratechick: um. dude im in grad school.
rockerliteratechick: lolz
nightdreamer: i’ll probably do even worse in grad school
nightdreamer: and then i’ll just say "I’M BUSY WITH WORK EH!!111"
rockerliteratechick: you seem to read a lot though. way more than me.
rockerliteratechick: )
nightdreamer: work like playing ps2 till morning
rockerliteratechick: i know right
nightdreamer: oh but my reading speed has been way slow the past weeks
rockerliteratechick: ugh same.
nightdreamer: a book that normally takes me 2 days to finish, has taken me 2 weeks, and i’m still at the first 100 of the 400 pages.
rockerliteratechick: these days i find myself daydreaming after i read three sentences.
rockerliteratechick: i wonder if it’s like an age thing.
nightdreamer: ah, that’s where we differ. these days i find myself doing distracting deeds after one chapter
nightdreamer: like twittering
nightdreamer: annoying people at twitter and ym
nightdreamer: sleeping
nightdreamer: or picking my nose
rockerliteratechick: hahaha
nightdreamer: and i have way too many unread books
rockerliteratechick: i conclude that it must be an age thing
rockerliteratechick: *sigh*
nightdreamer: it must be.
nightdreamer: *sigh*
rockerliteratechick: i’m nervous.
nightdreamer: why?
nightdreamer: about school?
rockerliteratechick: yeah.
rockerliteratechick: lol
rockerliteratechick: let me tell you a secret.
nightdreamer: well i hope everything goes fine for you
nightdreamer: okay, i’m all eyes.
rockerliteratechick: i’m always afraid that i’m not smart enough for this.
nightdreamer: heh. you?
nightdreamer: you’re among the smarter woman i’ve read
rockerliteratechick: yeah. seriously.
rockerliteratechick: aw come on, really?
nightdreamer: but yeah, only smart people worry that they’re not smart enough
nightdreamer: dumb people certainly never think about that.
rockerliteratechick: lolz good point.
rockerliteratechick: but i dunno.. this isnt a false modesty thing. i honestly do worry that im not smart enough :\
rockerliteratechick: it really bugs my boyfriend every time i bitch about it )
nightdreamer: well, i dunno about how much you bitch about it
nightdreamer: but i think it’s normal
nightdreamer: this crisis of faith
rockerliteratechick: yeah
nightdreamer: you’ll do fine, i believe so.
rockerliteratechick: thanks
rockerliteratechick: and thanks for listening hehe
nightdreamer: anytime
nightdreamer: now let’s go annoy some twats in twitter
nightdreamer: and update their unfollow list ^_^
rockerliteratechick: hahahaha!