somewhere

Before the onset of winter, the warmth of summer was foremost on my mind. That was September. Now it's almost April and it's still cold. I'm still wearing layers. I still wear a willy hat. I'm still enclosing my skin with heat- tech clothing innovations. Summer seems so far away.

The added heating expense also doesn't help my sanity. It wasn't like the year before when it was a bit warmer indoors. We haven't seen snow for a couple of years. It's just cold. As the clock moves forward, it's going to be longer days. Even for a short while, there's joy.

breathing jen

I almost caught an afternoon viewing of Cake at the nearest cinema two weeks ago. But because of circumstances too complicated to manoeuvre I had to forego the exercise, I'll catch it on the telly whether on Sky, DVD, PS4 and the likes. It's hard to find free time when one has a toddler. Jen Aniston would still do movies and Cake proved her range and she'll continue to traverse the sphere beyond her tabloid glamour. I viewed the SAG and the Golden Globe Awards online. I skipped the Bafta and the Oscars. All those who are going to win did win. There were no upsets. I enjoyed gazing at the gowns online and on the papers. I was basically time-wasting and it was good for my psyche.

I look at Judy Ann and Jennifer and I just follow how they are doing with their careers. By definition of the word, no idolisation involved, they didn't persevere in the academe (what's the point if you win the lottery?). So I'm just looking -- buying their magazine covers, watching their movies, catching their interviews, hoping they're being wise in their investments.

recovery

My cough is still here. I went to the GP but aside from checking my breath sounds, I left more perplexed as ever. Doctors should know how to enlighten. Maybe I'm coughing due to the chill and the stress of too much work. I should just cover myself in more fleece and knitwear during winter and concentrate on breathing, try to avoid red meat, dip into more fruits and vege.




But the highlight of my week is certainly the visit to the National Portrait Gallery just at the back of the National Gallery. The portrait paintings from the Tudor era are so well-restored, such talent in an era of beheadings and a monarch's absolute rule. I love looking at paintings. I love museums.

❤️💜💚 ❤️❤️💚 💜❤️💚



Fridge magnets from the museum's gift shop; I didn't notice they were both named Liz. And yes, what is a Warhol creation doing in an English gallery?

more practice

Baking is cathartic. My cupcakes are still crude and unpolished. But I'm practicing my frosting and piping. I'll get there.

love month

More like a huge Cough month.

I've never struggled as I struggle now with this relentless cough causing never before felt epigastric pain, waking me up in the middle of the night. I reckon it's the result of stress from the increased workload. It's just too much hard labour.

I blame the chill as well. I haven't ventured out in more than a month which bodes well for my unforgiving introverted self. Hell sometimes, is other people (and it feels right to quote Jean Paul Sartre). They judge. They judge. They judge. They compare, they compare some more and they never stop comparing.

Anyway, my tulips are such a fascination, we're still on love month.

despond

If only, the word contentment is easy to stew. But then there's little girl, so gorgeous, so cute, in an age where she's still exquisite, an emblem of hope. She makes a lot of mess. But she's two, you can still extend your patience a little if she makes a mess and she makes a lot of mess. The downside is I hate mess and it takes work to follow through her antics.

The comment.

Now somebody just pointed out to me that if you're not raising a brood (loads of kids) of your own (not nieces or nephews), you're an automatic failure. What the heck? I thought I've written about this subject time and time again. As I've observed through the years, the most wonderful persons (she just means women, i mean all the genders) in the world are those who do not crash and burn mulling over outgrown baby clothes, laundry, child care and addictive aspects of bachelorhood that would never be given up. Life in solitude is actually much more relaxing than being part of a duo. Although it's very nice when there's somebody who cooks for you. Such sweetness. Having to clean up afterwards in all its essence is not too bad. However the stubborn stains torture and maim especially when you're about to collapse from exhaustion, so by delaying the stocks of dishes, you're left with work and more work. Whilst in solitude, you don't wallow in servitude. You're free to write, free to read, free to travel.

In old age, it's not certain that the kid/kids would even talk to you, much more look after you. They'll tread their own path, make their way into the world. You, the parent could just be the afterthought.

great moan, circa '15

Ah, writing is my one enormous passion. The downside is only a very few single souls in my circle likes to write, go in depth with creativity on their free flow essays and describe their study of the human condition. They like to post pictures on Facebook or moan on shout outs, is that the same? Even one of the guys (a sleb) who illustrates in detail his hopes and frustrations on the state of politics and pop culture has abandoned his blog for more than a year and concentrates merely on his Twitter account. He should have continued dissecting the state of affairs, our lives and politics.

But those who write are those who read. Maybe I'm in the indifferent circle, those who are blasé about words and sentences but certainly enjoys judging visual arts or pictures of your child growing up and photos of your travels to places they've never been or never will be able to reach as well as photographs of  parties you were not included because you're not likeable.  Anyway, in this era of  innovation, a picture of food is already a moment.

In my view, nothing beats the blog or a book. We should write in any language. I couldn't find my book of Hiligaynon love stories written by my friend's grandfather. I couldn't find my friend's first story book for kids. She self-published, which was amazing. I shouldn't have lost my copy.

One of these days .... my friends will write a screenplay. Or a novel. Wish, wish, wish.