Mind Whack

I haven’t been producing good postings. This writer’s block with lack of sleep and annoyance that result bothersome attitude just trying to keep awake. It becomes a mean cycle that brings to being mean. Yes, I agree. I suck too. Meddle in the muddle.

So I have been cooking. Penne carbonaras that bothers my dad because he says penne makes him feel he’s eating air unlike non-straw like other pasta types. Then fried brinjal in chili. Pizzas using base of sliced bread.

What I didn’t was how a lasagna could reveal another degree dimension of me in the kitchen. The lasagna that I was so tired when making it, bridging with giving up and ugly cry + throwing everything to hit everything else in the kitchen. Of course I didn’t do it. Although I visually could see it clearly going in slow motion as my brother quips, “Yeay, lasagna!” I was mentally doing it. You know, throwing all wooden spoons and whisks. It was a very difficult and emotional process for me.

James Arthur’s Say You Won’t Let Go is playing. It makes me feel I’m walking in a dress, denim jacket and cowboy boots walking hand in hand with him in the park entering autumn. It’s so front page of 90’s Teen Magazine. All adverts on Keds, daisies and smiley floral dresses. My imagination is constantly in fall. The mix of tenderness in green, floral remnants and brown. I easily identify with it I suppose. I was born in fall.

It’s still a long way to where my mind brings me to be made into reality, but it’s okay. Time will tell. If not now, then maybe very much later.

Oh by the way, we went out last night and I did hear something drop when we got to the house. I settled in getting things in and making me coffee with aching heel and feet. Then I couldn’t find my phone. It got me grumpy when non of the kids owned up. How hard could it be to put my feet up in the foyer with a mug of hot coffee and cigarettes while playing Rising Super Chef 2? Tell me, how hard? HOW HARD? Life is hard. Times are hard. ((HUGS))

Well, obviously I had to walk around the house to find them too a few times. Like, I’ve asked them and they said no but they’re kids so what do they know. Interrogate them we must! Then made them call the phone – the line was dead, so great – yeay! Walked upstairs and downstairs and inside and out from the kitchen to the yard. Checked the car twice. With aching heel and feet. I couldn’t find it. I even took out garbage from within the car.

“Mom, I think I heard something drop in the car. It could be it you know”.

I went, “Pfffft… I checked the car and it’s not there!” while internally going through an ugly cry. I’m a bad mom. I don’t care. Who cares about my aching feet anyhow?

Then DH said, “I think it did probably fall in the car, hon; just like Adam said.” Pfffft. To both of them.

So I went back to car. Slowly. Like the slowest sci-fi movie you’ve ever watched. Yes, sci-fi. Reached out my hand in the side pocket of the passenger seat in darkness. Cosily it had been sitting there for the longest time. Just playing hide and seek. You know, I don’t like playing that game. Especially not at night. But what does it know, right?

Well of course the screaming died down. No one bothered to ask if I had found it. I guess it was obvious that I had found it because the screaming stopped completely. Right? And who would in their right mind want to try and ask if I did find it, being at risk of being screamed at if I still had not found it. Right?

Oh my I’m so completely whack… Haha.

So, I’ve got some tiny bit of work left before the weekend. Paid some bills and sorted my brain. Woke up late but got here not in time with some excuse of having family matter that I just had to attend to.

For some reason I feel refreshed and need to put a photo of fuchsia roses in this post. Lovely photo. I hope you feel the same way too.



The Daily Post Prompts | Imaginary | Distant | Tender | Revelation | Triumph | Puncture | Create | Blossom | Relieved | Meddle | Loop

Mind Whack

Mind gardening, anxiously.

There is gathering tonight – again. More to like, 4th family gathering in the span of 12 days – with my in-laws. We’re feeling a bit tired about it – us, the wives of the 5 brothers. I mean, we rush from the office and home errands and all other stuffs right…

So far I have been cooking almost every night for dinner. Bringing potluck to each gathering from the office rush. Having to attend half the time to their gatherings without my DH. It gets tiring for me. I feel old that we’re all doing this to satisfy some people’s need to really feel needed and loved. Not me. It’s them. They need the feeling needed and loved. Meh.

Last night I had my anxiety issues. Instead of falling asleep, my brain went into overdrive about what to cook – despite already having prepped the roast chicken to bring for tonight. It went like, should I cook pasta already? Where to do I get the stuffs? Which shop? Best way? Oh, the traffic will be so bad for me to come home later etc. What about salad? Ooooh it would be great to have smoked cheese. Errr… How to get it? And it just won’t stop…

And so, 3 hours of sleep later, I’m here in the office.

Please help pray that I manage through the day.

And pray that I’ll survive tonight.

It just requires so much effort to put up with all these things. Not thinking about the oncoming festivities in 3 weeks on top of 3-day wedding (in-laws side) that gives us no room for ourselves to do something else. Oh God with the theme colours that we have to dress ourselves in with the children.

Yes, effort. How much are you willing to give? Mine is about to reach it’s ceiling. I’m still trying to compromise. Just coz I’m nice; but don’t keep giving me sh!t to process into gold bars.

Seriously, I have no idea what this rant is. I’m sorry you had to read through all this, cluttered mind. Thank you for your effort though. You made it until the end.



Daily Prompts: Portion | Imaginary | Distant

Mind gardening, anxiously.

Prettier gardens

I am trying to find a sense of sustainability for the center of me. It is a steep, trashy, muddy road. Always find mine sluggish. Quicksand that I miraculously just stand over and not get sucked into the earth. I punish myself sometimes. Reprieve as I go. It is a cycle.

Life turns itself slowly especially with a struggle because you need to learn to leap blindly in faith that you will be okay. It scares the sh*t out of me. Something out of balance although prominently enough inside I know I need to trust myself that life isn’t monotonous, IT IS going somewhere. Only I am so stubborn to notice, acknowledge and move.

Roads need to be paved to be made into highways.

~ momsthetruth ~

It is clearer destination that I see. It is going somewhere. Words spoken are without jagged fences of defensiveness. More like flowers edging the boundaries. I receive them, and help to make the gardens organised. Prettier. With a flow. Rainbow explosions.

Maybe we can build a house in the meadow.

I only hope the garden will flourish. One day it will have an orchard of fruits and horses and cats. One day.

Survive | Reprieve | Infuse | Radiate | Detonate

Edit: Redundancy of sentence.

Prettier gardens

You’re dismissed, woman.

I wish I could catch up and individually write up The Daily Post Prompts. I can’t manage it. I’m just sorting out my own internal issues. My emotional bag can only fit a certain much. It has, there are just too many conversations, considerations and feel in it to be known with.

Seriously, sometimes I am frustrated with myself. Like how silent I can be when DH is around just because he physically makes me less anxious, worry-wart and calms all my brain agitations.  But how cruel enough to have all frustrations when he’s not around, telling myself that I AM, WILL, SO GOING TO TELL HIM HOW I FEEL ‘RIGHT NOW’ WHEN I SEE HIM and it just all descend into nothingness when he is around.

It absolutely unfolds itself in the sequence of this…

“I’m so telling him right now! NO! I mustn’t. But I need to. NO! NO! MUSTN’T. MUSTN’T, MUSTN’T, MUSTN’T.” Mutiny, this.


Oh woman. Just eat it in. Sh-sh-sh… Just eat them all in. It’s not the right time. Yet. It’s okay. You can do this. Swallow. Quietly. Be still, my heart.


Then I forget what it was; or… I want to tell him, and I don’t know how… The qualms when I do, with only 3% is delivered…


And the 3% that comes out, so professionally approached. Emotionless. And ultimately, how I disgrace myself with me. I’m a piece of sh*t.


This self inflicted notorious farce cycle repeats itself. So violently.

But yesterday was different. My level of self-tolerance was short. I had to endure the bantering from his friend’s wife for her receiving late-payment notification letter from the bank for something that is registered under her name that DH took on – I had nothing to do with. Unwillingly I put on the superhero cape on, stood on the precipice, borderline on my borderlines, and took it on. I was crap. I sent him a message that took so much longer to get through the thick forest.

When finally it did, he responded to my question and tells me their 4WD for forest trail has broken down so they’d be coming home on a tow-truck. He asks me to pick him up at a spot. He gave the time. I got there on time because he has established this thing about having his expectations met vs my short-comings (i.e. lateness) (with ongoing things like traffic jam, no vehicle available, having to stop for gas, my need to have a cigarette first, the cat wants suicide by refusing to move away from the driveway, my lack of motivation, repetitive explanation of things that only got half-sentenced into his head each time I say them where I then begin to shout thinking because my voice is too small and then he thinks I’m so rude to raising my voice to him (WTF hahaha), apart of having to manage 3 kids to handle/argue/negotiate/scream/listen to beforehand).

I waited. They ran 15 minutes late.

It was hot, borderline thirsty, hungry, borderline grumpy. You could still feel the heat even in air-conditioning.

The car radio has been broken for the past few months and the CD has been playing the same series of song for over and over since December 2016. So I shut the CD player down. Sick of it. I meddled with my phone and played on Spotify out loud enough to satisfy myself. With limited headroom decision, I began talking to myself, singing, screaming, going under emotion and above it. I entered my Digistive Zen moment. Restless fat feeling with low libido but ready to scratch some walls from being under serviced. Yes, THAT feeling.

He finally came through, got in the car, and had to ask (Well, I felt like, it was A QUESTION, really), “Why are you playing on Spotify?”

…I mean, he had to ask right; because he has got a functioning radio in his pickup truck, right? Is there no logic to why I chose to Spotify myself? So I should be okay listening to the same thing each time I drive like, EVERY TIME, right? I wasn’t asking him to listen to what I chose to listen in the first place. And every time I make a decision is always the one that leaves no room for him to comment because I am the only decision-maker for it, right – because he is not present. And the rest of the other sinister things I digested in my head just shat through. He had unmoored, unleashed the beast in expressionless me (which I know is even more scarier in the I-have-no-sh!t-clue-of-what-may-happen-after-this category) with just that one question. So do so kindly receive my hospitality, final sentence and load of crap – take it like a man.

But really, to think what it took for me to be able to just say it! All the feelings, endurance, patience, dissatisfaction, worry, unhappiness… I mean, being able to draw out what I stored in my emo bank crap was WONDERFUL! But to think that it all had to be in collaboration with 5 days of water-cut to be able to be out in one sitting is like… I mean, I had to be under that intensity scale to actually be able to literally throw myself up to him! It took so much and so long…

I’m just this maze of sad stuff, isn’t it? Be like…


Yeah woman. You’re dismissed.

You’re dismissed, woman.

Interview with the Vampire

I remember the first time I watched Interview with the Vampire. That was the first time I laid my eyes on him. I fell in love with somber Louis. It also marked my journey with the book, and its subsequent series The Vampire Lestat and The Queen of the Damned, many years ago.

It is only today that I learnt Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire was written in 1976. That was the year I was born in. It feels intriguing somehow how reading it felt so right. And that the movie was the first movie I ever watched on Laser Disc. I cried along with Louis when Claudia burnt to ashes.

The revelation of the book and its subsequent writings gripped me in some ways. I understood when it said how after so many lives is known from every drop of blood sipped, that the Queen and her King knew what life meant. How menial are the things we complain about. How we tend to pursue things that is really just a temporary excitement instead of something that lasts a long time with dignity. And what terrible life really mean.

To tie that back with what I had been going through, I feel ashamed of myself; because I understood, and I had forgotten. I’ve always floated above it. I should still do the same. Perhaps I have been looking too inwardly not wanting to see out. Being above it instead of inside of it.

Truth be told, there are days where I hover like the Queen, and sometimes Lestat; but where I am honestly half the time, Louis. Somber. The cursed. But I suppose, every INFJ feels this way. Cursed with this percentage base of sorrow. Wallowed until they find out that they are INFJ and that dissolves a ton of weight on their head.

I loved reading the books but it certainly put me into this nerve-wrecking positions while doing so. Anne Rice, Stephen King and Jodi Picoult’s writings often put me in bizarre sittings sprawling across the room with nail and finger biting – so desirably uber sexy. Haha.


I should read more. From books. Not articles that glide from within Facebook. Or eBook. The feel is not the same as gliding pages with your fingers.

Yes. I should.

Interview with the Vampire

Lulling Cotton Wool and Rainbows

When my brain is stuffed with fuzzy cotton wool, rainbows and Pusheen, I let songs play on loud enough to connect my brain. Let the thinking waves go into the invisible dotted lines to put me into concentrate and relax mode. Being able to work while singing instead of allowing me go berserk, shoving everything aside and me, completely turned away to doing something absolutely opposite of what I’m supposed to.

Like posting THIS! – The fuzziness of a bunch of Pusheens is mind shocking to the membrane. 

So, I suppose I’ll call that stuff that I do, my NONE BOX. I mean, men have that NOTHING BOX, right? It goes well with ‘lulling my none box’. Haha. I’m lulling. Hahaha.

(I just rejected a letter someone asked for my boss to sign. Hahaha. I’m such a b*tch. Hahaha.)

Lulling back to work then.

Lulling Cotton Wool and Rainbows

Memories of Yarns and Blankets

Sometimes in the back of my head, I’m rooted back to the gray.

I blanket myself from hurt, to grace with inner strength instead. There are days when the brain pulls out a memory or two that intertwines and make sense, bringing out the pain that happened in the past, to now. Yes, it is unfair. It is unfair to me. If I was totally knackered then, how even more when it’s on repeat? Why can’t it just be black and white? I want to bridge that memory to be laid safely in the ‘Box of Life’s Journey – Done’ and lace them with perfume and countless yarn designs.


Each memory is never bitter. There is sweetness in each awakening. There are tears of joy, hurt, regret and hopefulness. Some emotions outweigh the positive ones in some stories.

I was life’s apprentice; and I still am, where I hope to graduate with grace.

Memories of Yarns and Blankets