hullo november-

i intend to enjoy you.

it's friday night, and i'm at home spending a quiet evening, instead of running about in town with x face or group. last week i came home at 4.30am, and forgot the world, the world forgot. waking up at a quarter to four is an announcement to make once a season, and not oftener.

tonight i am feeling affectionate, and i lavish my affection on this place. never mind how sad that sounds. i am fully entitled to lavish my affection on spaces- spaces, mind, not inanimate objects. besides, any space that has spent seven years- we're into our eighth now- with me has the right to my affections. i will miss this little corner if i ever leave; it's seen me grow from them jc days. which totally explains the name; observe the expression of individuality and nerdiness blended into a combination of seventeen year old cool.

speaking of which, often, i think about- the arrival gate of our country's airport. i like it much better than the departure gate, which i almost never go, unless leaver falls in the space (space) where in-my-heart and self-is-able-to-handle-saying-goodbye meet. things don't really go well otherwise.

i'll go the distance/if it brings you back to me, sings yamagata, and well, really? would you? would i? questions i could think about, but thoughtfulness brings a darkness, sometimes. i've learnt the fallacy of wondering-wandering- in vacuums; also, recently, i was taught to think in context.

this appetite for words appears insatiable/shooting out words on overdrive.

anyone tried pickled mushrooms in olive oil? it's one of those things too good to keep to the self. courtesy of the god-grandmother; God bless god-grandmothers. i know with all certainty i can eat it every night for a week: obession reminiscent of tang yuan craze years and years ago. methinks i'll always remember walking over to beauty world after school for the tang yuan fix till, one day i woke up and knew it was over. but back to pickled mushrooms in olive oil- for now, the only thing that's keeping me from devouring the little pickled bottle is the mental reminder that it's meant to be shared; childhood lesson sacrosanct. i won't have it every night for a week, in spite of myself.

ah, fit's over. as a suitably suitable ending, i have to say, i absolutely dig the english major label. linguist pride.