Daily Journal – August 30

Daily Journal - August 30




I am stressed out of my head. This week, my to-do list has been growing faster than I can clear it. Only one day left till September and I haven’t created my new tracking and planning spreads. I have 16 pages to make before the 1st but I won’t have time to even start till the 3rd, at the earliest.

I have been so, so fatigued all this week and suffering from sleeplessness. Also feeling sad that I haven’t had time all month to spend on my interests. I hate being an adult.

Life is too frustrating.

But I must stop this line of thinking now. I can feel the darker thoughts trying to take over. Go away, dark thoughts.


I’m grateful that Piers allows me to have all my online shopping sent to his office because I hate answering the door. Or the phone.

Pygmy kids

Recently, we thought about buying pygmy goats as pets because a neighbour’s goats had kids. But how can I take care of pets when I don’t even have time to take care of myself?

If you ask a doctor whether ativan is addictive, then also ask how he defines addiction: addictive only medication for which “you have to constantly increase the dose” to achieve the same effect. For this reason, SSRIs are not addictive, but after weaning, you still have a lot of fun with the withdrawal symptoms.


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The senseless depression

I woke up this morning feeling depressed.

It’s one of those days when all the little things that niggle at your life suddenly rear up and scream for attention in unison.

It could be a tiny thing like that scratch on the corner of your mobile phone that’s been bugging you.

Or you didn’t like the way your hair looked when you woke up this morning.

By themselves, these trivial things don’t matter. Life goes on, so what?

But there are days when all these trivials decide to gang up and crowd your amygdala (the part of the brain that controls emotions) all at once, rendering you helpless and handicapped without reason.

You know you’re feeling depressed but you don’t really know why, so you search deep within yourself to ascertain the cause.

The answer comes back: “Cos you forgot to wash your favourite top last week so you can’t wear it today.”

And you’re, like, “What the hell?”

Why should anyone get depressed over that?

More answers come in:

“Cos you overslept by half an hour today.”

“Cos MRT commuters are so inconsiderate.”

And you’re, like, “Get out of here.”

You can’t comprehend the depression because the still sane part of you believes with https://www.dentavacation.com/diazepam/ there is no reason to be depressed just because your room is a mess.

Yet, the soul has suddenly lost the ability to cope with trivials, the way an Aids victim has lost the ability to fight biological afflictions that are normally negligible.

When days like this happen, you want to curl up and die. But the annoyingly sane part of you says no, so you get out of the house and life goes on.

And then you spend $4.50, sit in a quiet cafe, and you blog.

And you blog about something entirely different from what you set out to blog about in the first place.

Damned brain.

I want to kill myself but I’m too lazy (PG)

So, I was lying in bed for three hours, thinking about killing myself.

But it’s so much work and I’m too lazy.

I’m always thinking of effective ways to die. But suicide is either too painful or too troublesome, you know?

Throw myself at a speeding car? Not foolproof and could be bloody.

Lie on the road and wait for a vehicle to run over me? That’s gross. Innards flying all over. Severed limbs.

Jump into an MRT track? SMRT staff will curse me for eternity for giving them yet another mess to clean up.

Jump off a tall building? Too inconsiderate. Think of the people who have to clean up and the witnesses who will be traumatised for life.

Cut myself, stab myself, club myself? Too personal.

Overdose on panadol? Not foolproof and the nausea is worse than dying.

Carbon monoxide poisoning? Not sure how to rig it. Too troublesome.

Gas poisoning? I don’t live alone.

There is no good way at all to kill oneself.

The thought of having to plan a good suicide and actually getting up to do it makes me feel tired already. It’s not fun and I don’t like doing not-fun things.

And then, there are the moral aspects.

I don’t want to hurt the people I love who love me.

But I wonder.

How many people will grieve over my death?

I mean truly grieve. I don’t mean like, “Aw, such a pity she’s dead. How sad, I think I’ll miss her.” That’s bullshit. I mean grieve as in feel the pain of loss, the pain like a hole cut out of your heart that will never heal.

How many people will actually feel pained over the cessation of my existence?

I don’t know. I’m thinking maybe a handful, like family. Even then, I don’t see why they should even feel it. I don’t think I value-add anyone’s life. Not a one. Yes, I know I have family who loves me. But I don’t do shit for them. Nobody depends on me for anything. I can be gone and the value of their lives won’t change.

Well, sure, I know there are people who think I’m beautiful and talented and that my death would be a bloody waste. But I don’t think they will really grieve, you know? Maybe they’ll feel sad about it for a while because that’s human compassion, but I don’t think my death will cripple them or pain them.

Maybe a few people will blog about my death because it’s good blogging fodder, and they will say things like, “Oh, how sad, what a waste, I’ll miss reading her blog,” or “What a stupid bitch, good riddance.” But I don’t think they will really grieve. They will move on and, tomorrow, they will blog about monkeys in the desert.

My existence doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things so it’s not such a bad thing if I killed myself, is it?

Still, I can’t do it on the off-chance that there are actually people who will grieve.

Now, I know because this post talks about death and suicide, some of you will feel compelled to give me your two cents.

“Don’t kill yourself. It’s not worth it.”

“Don’t be a coward.”

“Life is beautiful. Embrace it, don’t lose it.”

“If u kill you’reself your goin strait to hell becuz god sez so its a sin.”

“can i hav all ur stuff????!!!11!!!!one1!!”


Because, firstly, I’m not going to kill myself. Duh.

Secondly, those words are meaningless. They’re obnoxious and insensitive. I don’t think anyone has the right to tell someone not to kill themselves, especially without having lived in that person’s shoes.

Sure, you can tell me not to. But then be prepared to shoulder all my burdens. Solve all my problems. Soothe all my pain. Give me money.

If you’re not prepared to do any of that, what right do you have to tell anyone not to die? Talk is cheap.

The only people who have the right are parents. “I fucking spent hundreds of thousands of dollars and zillions of hours of my life raising you to this point, you little shit. So you’d better not just up and throw it away on a whim, dammit!”

And then, there’s the aftermath to consider. I mean afterlife (or lack thereof).

Lack would be good. Then death would be a clean end to everything.

But life isn’t easy. I have no reason to believe that death would be any easier.

What if I became a restless ghost doomed for eternity to be bound to the very spot where I chose to take my own life?

That’s a really scary thought. I don’t want to hang out at the same bloody spot for eternity and have stupid humans walk through me or sit on me and I can’t scream at them because they can’t hear me or see me.

Even if they could feel my presence, I’m sure haunting people will get old after a while.

What if I got reincarnated as a cockroach as punishment for suicide? Well, cockroaches have really short lifespans so I guess it’s not too big a problem. But what if I keep getting reincarnated as a cockroach for eternity?

What if there’s really a hell?

What if death is worse than life?

Well, there are too many things to consider. Suicide is so troublesome and has so many consequences. I guess I won’t be doing it any time soon. I’m not free today, anyway. I have tons of work to do.

I guess it’ll have to wait.

Hair caught in zipper

Yup, only Nanny Wen is capable of such.

We were walking to the MRT station together and she was fiddling with the contents in her bag. Because I’m a fast walker and she’s a slow walker, plus she was fiddling, she lagged behind.

Suddenly, I heard her go “Aaaaaaaeeeeeeeaaaaaahhhhh!!!” so I whipped around to look at her.

“Help! Help! My hair is stuck!”

After I narrow-eyed her a little, I walked back to help her out of her predicament. (Nanny Wen does give me quite a lot of practice in the narrow-eye department.)

“Will you stop doing that?!” I demanded. This wasn’t the first time her hair got stuck in her bag’s zipper. She just wouldn’t stop zipping up her bag while it’s slung over her shoulders where her hair is fair game.

She tried to win some sympathy by pouting at me, but it didn’t really work.

I walked on ahead after rescuing her hair because we were kind of late.

“Booo,” she said from behind me, “Call me an idiot.”

“You’re an idiot,” I obliged.

“Arrrrgghhhhhh!!!” she said.

“Hahahahaha!” I replied, thinking that she was pissed because I readily agreed to her assertion.



I turned around and there she had her hair stuck in the zipper again, barely 10 seconds after the first stuckage.


Only Nanny Wen is capable of such, I say again.

“WILL YOU STOP DOING THAT??!!” I repeated.


And then I couldn’t stop laughing because I had by then taken out my camera to snap the evidence of her dodoheadedness.

Poor Nanny Wen. What has she done to deserve a friend like me? =P

Why did the cockroach cross the road?

Based on a true story.


The Goonfather is driving his car with Qiaoyun in the passenger seat. The traffic is busy but slow. Cars are going at about 35 kmh.

(pointing through the windscreen)
Hey, there’s a cockroach on the road!

(driving past the cockroach)

You just ran over it.

What’s a cockroach doing on the road?
(looking at his rearview mirror)
Hey, it’s still crossing the road.

Since when do cockroaches cross roads?

(still looking at rearview mirror)
I dunno. First time I see. But it’s a clever cockroach. It knows how to siam all the car and it stops when there’s a car tyre approaching. And it’s moving again.

Hahaha. The cockroach is playing frogger.


Why did the cockroach cross the road?

Becaaaaaaaaause… there’s more food on the other side.

That’s stupid. Cockroaches eat EVERYTHING so there’s always lots of food EVERYWHERE for them.

Because there’s more yummy food on the other side.

What yummy food?

Bak kwa.

Cockroaches don’t eat bak kwa!!!

Are you very sure about that?

They may eat bak kwa, but they don’t enjoy it as much as I do.

How you know?

Because they have different taste buds.

How you know?

Because they don’t die from radiation so they’re different.

What’s that got to do with taste buds?

But cockroaches are evil so they shouldn’t be allowed to eat bak kwa.


Cos I say so.


Qiaoyun wins the argument as is the natural order of things. She’s brilliant at senseless discussion and unbeatable at veering away from the topic. The Goonfather comes a very close second, of course.

Unfortunately, the question of why the cockroach crossed the road is still largely unanswered and, therefore, open to further speculation.

Dictionary of Hokkien terms used
1. Siam = to get out of the way
2. Bak kwa = dried barbequed meat