Not Hungry

In the evenings I sit in front of the telly waiting to feel hungry while the cat scratches my arms, hungry for human flesh. This lack of appetite worries me. And even when it strikes I have no impetus to eat. There is nobody to make sure I eat – unlike Solomon, who has his father cut up terrifying lamb chops into tiny bits. I try my best really. And I’m not complaining. We had lunch at Da Paolo’s today – I ate enough slices of fresh, aromatic pizza (absolutely beautiful – I avoided the smoked pork. Poor pork! Poor piggie!). And I laughed genuinely, lightly, enjoying the sunlight, the lazy lunch. I haven’t felt so, so light for so, so long. And it’s all thanks to Prozac. Only it gives me a dry mouth, a slight headache at times and takes away my appetite when the darkness cloaks in.

Filed under: belljar

Calming the Demons

In The Noonday Demon, one woman said it is impossible to have dreams and be creative when on pills. How true. I vaguely recall the last dream I had. A mongrel sat on the top of my head. Other than that, nothing. When there are no dreams I feel numb. When there are nightmares I feel frightened. But numbness is a good thing to feel. At least it offers stability, which is more than what I can ask for in these days. On my wrist the scars are fading, slowly. I look at them and wonder just how I could have done it – and I maintain, I didn’t do it. It wasn’t me at all. It was caused by my hand, but that’s it. It happened to me – I didn’t do it. I have three pills left – a dangerous situation. In my mind I manoeuvred – god it took me five minutes just to type that fucking word i must be dyslexic or depressed did i spell it correctly? – schedules to permit an opening so I could run off to the hospital for more. Surely you can pick them up? I hear the doctor saying, gently. Or get someone to pick them up for you? I think she has never been depressed. Did she think I’d submit my mother to this, this perversion? Besides in my sobbing and spiralling that night I couldn’t even remember where I placed my prescription – my precious half a prescription of pills! I searched the sleeves of my wallet but it wasn’t there. And for the life of god I cannot remember. Certain faculties are so lost to me it is a miracle I function the way I function, that is, amazingly organised, at work.  In bed I hold on to The Noonday Demon, which calms me at night. Solomon is wise, compassionate and lyrical in his writing – every word he writes is truth. Of the pills, he wrote: It is humiliating to be reliant on them. It is inconvenient to have to keep track of them and to stock up on prescriptions. And it is toxic to know that without these perpetual interventions you are not yourself as you have understood yourself. I could not have phrased how I felt so poignantly, so beautifully, so accurately.

Filed under: belljar, dreams, humdrum

Hello Belle. Hello Boo.

I take time out of my depressive episodes to find delight in belle & boo’s pretty prints. They have a blog too. 

Filed under: all things frivolous

To the same place, the same face, the same brute

I was gleeful too quickly. Too complacent (aren’t we all nowadays?). I must understand, from my struggles against it, that it is by no means self-induced. Nor could it be overcome by sheer willpower (try doing that with appendicitis won’t you?). It is biological. Definitely, maybe. And in my quest for Prozac it seems I must yet again trudge down to that dreaded place, and be quizzed to death by psychiatrists who read two pages of your history and claims to know you. I must put out my card, by now yellowed and crumpled, and waited for hours in the cold waiting room. I must sit down and state my symptoms. Except with this sort of thing I can’t just tell it all in seconds. I must lead herr doktor through my case file, bring him to back to the past, remind him of the lead characters, repaint my life after -, how I climbed back up from the abyss of the dead (or more accurately, less poetically, my bed), and how, now, I’m back in that same seat, sniffling. I must re-describe the signs – the bad dreams, the uncontrollable sobs on the train, the twisting of the fingers, the thrill of having the cat claw my hand till the skin peel off, the breathlessness, the sorrysorrysorrys, the weekend spent in bed worrying about the broccoli out there, wilting – Starkey would have to go without it for now, three broccolis gone! I shouldn’t be thinking about broccoli.. shouldn’t be thinking about it at all. All I want is to be on Prozac again. Maybe I shouldn’t never have gotten off it. It works long-term. Without it, it’s just short-term straight-line surrogate happiness. 

Filed under: humdrum

Looming

Dark clouds are looming. I sense it. From the frequency of the dreams. It’s not that bad because I have to try to remember them. What I cannot remember is safely out of mind. Except that they’re still there, somewhere in the deep, dark abysses or right above my head full of headaches. I think I cannot escape it. Somehow, it will catch up someday. And the writing is bad. It is getting harder and harder, and all those words, sentences, paragraphs – just a job. And in the end, after all the lunch-ins, all the meetings, all that staring at the screen, I don’t know what I’m writing about, who I’m writing for and if it does any good at all. Happiness, for me, in this life, will always be contrived. It is impossible. And nobody will ever, ever want to live with someone so flawed, so unhappy, so incapable of enjoying life. I think, I am thinking, that it might be better to just snooze and not wake up.

Filed under: belljar, dreams

Oh Sweet Sale

pic from www.epiloguepages.com

The GSS is upon us. Save us! Tried as I might, I still couldn’t help staring at the four-letter word whenever it is propped up on store shelves, in all fonts and colours. But I’m surviving. As long as I don’t go anywhere near Orchard, where no fruit tree ever grows.

Instead, I’m buying bread. You have no idea how therapeutic bread-buying (along with clearing cat poo) is. Mulling over the offerings fresh out of the oven, baked crisp or soft with powdered hands. Should I get the cranberry scone (just watch butter melt on it!), the boring sugar doughnut, mini picks of fruit tarts and almond croissants …or just a plain loaf of wholewheat bread? Sweet temptation, best savoured with a cup of hot tea in front of the tv. 

If I have a home of my own, I’ll invest in a hardy (and pretty) breadbox. A wooden one that slides open to reveal bread that’ll feed a family of four. Cupboards stocked with berry jam and orange marmalade. A yellow toaster with a smiley popping welcomes into your face. If I have children, I’ll raise them on bread. Wholewheat. Multi-grain. The best thing in the world.

Filed under: all things frivolous

I Think I Have A Problem

In my two days of leave, I hardly left my Mac. I routed all company emails to my Gmail just so I can be, or so they say, “on top of things”. I felt strangely guilty and lost, and spent half the time worrying that things are going wrong with my published stories. I reply to all office emails at lightning speed. I continue writing and surfing for ideas. I email potential newsmakers. When I took naps in the afternoon, I carefully placed my laptop right beside me so that I can know when a new email comes in. And yes, I wake every 20 minutes to check my phone. The thing is, I’m just not very used to having annual leave and breaking the working momentum to… just rest? Perhaps – since the depression has cleared – it’s time to warrant another visit to the psychologist? 

Filed under: humdrum

Good Morn Brekkie!

After nursing the kittens with milk and cuddles for weeks, we’ve found good homes for all of them. Dinner (now renamed Cake) went to the Booksactually kids, who are proving wonderful (first-time) parents! Lunchie was adopted by a girl who saw the posting on Cat Welfare. And my sister, whose heart probably melted for Brekkie with each passing day, decided that we shall keep him. Starkey’s delighted of course. The nanny couldn’t keep his paws off the little vampire and together, they can play all day. All I’m thinking of is how I’ll have a mini Zen garden to push cat litter around again. I’m seriously perverted. 

Filed under: woof!

There, And Back Again

Back from my first ever work trip. To the supposedly foggy city of San Francisco. Flew business (ate plenty of warm croissants and drank plenty of juice), ordered room service happily, walked the crookedest street, spied the famous Citylights Bookshop and Jack Kerouac Street, saw the Golden Gate, said “no” to the homeless , dined at an over-hyped restaurant in our hotel and…overspent on Kate Spade stuff (1 Classic Noel Small Coal in Stucco, 1 Jane Street Sonda wallet and 2 Becca Bow clutches!) and quirky Benefit cosmetics (Ooh ooh ooh la lift!) in Union Square. All very pleasant. 

In the time we were there, a heatwave struck the city and fires broke out everywhere (“You brought the heat with you!” our hosts exclaimed, in their summerwear and singsong style). My black Zara trenchcoat lay limply in one arm while I fanned myself with a Benefit catalog with another. It was, in some ways, a very Singaporean sorta heat. My skin peeled from the dryness. I yearned for spritzers and for the cool to descend. On our second day there, same-sex marriage is legalised, to great joy in Castro. I shall watch Women Who Love Women on Saturday to celebrate it.

Filed under: humdrum

Meow Meow Meow

DinDin chewing his paw.

Been spending my evenings nursing the three lovely kittens Mum brought home one night in a huge carton box. Luckily, Starkey has been helping us out, playing the nanny. While this doggie of mine hates other woofies, he’s fallen in love with kittens. He licks them and let them nibble at his tiny nipples. And they paw him, climb onto them and take swats at his furry tail.

More pics and updates soon. And if anyone’s willing to adopt them, please email me at limjaclyn@gmail.com Tks!

Filed under: humdrum

Not Enough

Ok so I know I really shouldn’t shop and spend, but the cravings get to me at times. Like yesterday, after packing a contact into a cab, I actually nonchalantly dropped out of the queue and scooted back into Accessorize for a quick pokearound. Oh what bliss! Bags! Earrings! Trinkets! Hairbands – I don’t even like hairbands! But wow!

In the ten minutes I was inside, I happily picked up a pair of dusted gold studs, ocean-blue enamel bangles and a sepia brown bag I really love. Really. This impulse buying addiction is real scary and I blame all the fashion mags I’ve been reading. But at least I didn’t chalk it up on credit!I really want to stop. But I can’t. Because I just saw this Topshop belted dress with pleats in Female mag. And I’m thinking of the Ellybeth party dress from Wiksten-made. And all those stuff from Zouk Flea & Easy on Sunday.  

Meanwhile I’m trying to eat more fruits. Cantaloupe slices on workdays, Granny Smith apple cubes on weeknights and occasionally, dragonfruits in front of the telly. Yum. On to better skin! 

Filed under: all things frivolous

Flea Bug

I don’t think I can resist Zouk Flea & Easy, even though I’ve been quite determined to stop shopping and spending. It’s on this Sunday. Admission is free. Bring your own shopping bags.

Filed under: humdrum

Praying for Worldly Desires

Conan the chihuahua prays for worldly desires, via ST.

So cute! And while we’re woofing away, Red Dog by Louis De Bernieres is absolutely fantastic.

Filed under: all things frivolous, woof!

On A Completely Random Note: Meow.

I slept the weekend away. First in snatches, on Saturday as HDB-recommended workers drilled and tore the toilet floor away to reveal raw cement. Second, a Sunday siesta in a familiar-unfamiliar apartment, a familiar-unfamiliar bed. It was the wavering in and out between dreams that depresses me (but what doesn’t depress me nowadays?). The stumbling through reality astounds me. Why do I feel so drained, all the time? It is so wholly uncharacteristic of a seemingly healthy 26-year-old. 

Sometimes, the thought that I am going to die springs up, suddenly. And I asked around, “Am I going to die?” I don’t know. Because I don’t exactly know what I am living for, now. There seems to be nothing. Even Kafka’s Metamorphosis is based on a completely true account. How else do we understand this world? There is only the doggiewoggie, but the obsession with this furry creature is too much, as is starkly presented to me each passing workday.

I am rambling, because I am again no longer clear. I have two boxes of psychiatric drugs from a worried GP, who advised me to go Changi, go Buangkok. She didn’t have Prozac so it was Fluxil. She didn’t have Ativan, so it became Lexotan. I didn’t even have to cry. And now I have a rotting face. The mini volcano on my dream head moved down to my nose, and spread and spilled. Pus.

Because somehow I know I will never be happy I wonder if I can trade places with those who are dying, and die instead. I am pondering this philosophically, with a cup of water on my desk. Like the cancer-stricken blogger Shin, who has two young kids to live for. Or the Filipino maid who was killed, instantly, by a taxi, with a leg cut off and her body in a drain. That’s the thing. If either one of them has my life, what a difference it would make! Their children will have a mother. 

I had many dreams when I was asleep. Vaguely of dogs, of running down empty streets, of being in a world so completely different from the one I inhabit in real time. I haven’t blogged for so long. I am too drained and my life seem to be set on a trajectory of terrors.

On a completely random note, the Juno OST is brilliant.  

Filed under: humdrum

The Little Volcano

Well then. Hello back. This time, masked under girlish giggles, a little volcano on the side of my head, bubbling pus. The camera closes in, like the first scene of Un Chien Andalou, before focusing on the little volcano, rupturing my scalp. I was examining it at the bathroom mirror, nitpicking at the crater yellowed with pus, fascinated, feeling faint. 

Filed under: belljar, dreams