I had a good day today. I got a haircut which put me in a petulant, churlish mood, like I always do when I get a new haircut. Then I felt bad because it actually looks pretty nice now that I look at it. I had a very nice afternoon tea break of sandwiches, salad and soup with my mum. I love casual lunches; just my mother and me. There's something so timeless about it, like being a grown up and little girl all at the same time. I visited Eric's new apartment in Singapore after. It's one of those new, spiffy, modern numbers: high ceiling to floor glass windows, bleach wood and white walls. It's even got that faint freshly painted smell of wood and whitewash on it. Then we watched I am Legend and did some retail therapy. I like shopping with people who have similar tastes to mine; it's very reaffirming!

I had a good day yesterday too. Felt very similar to today; rolling around in bed for the better part of the afternoon, dinner, shopping, conversation, supper and more conversation. Both days felt like similar, categorised blocks; so similar in activity, so distinct in company. The best part about people is that no two people can make you feel the same way. And the worst part about people is that no two people can make you feel the same way.

Which brings me to the point that although good days are so satisfying, I can't help but feel resentful. Good things don't flow and meander like rivers anymore, but exist in remote, sanitised capsules. It never feels like I've lived a good memory nowadays. They were all merely poorly recorded chunks of activities with different people and the memory spans a day. Just a day.

Work ended on Wednesday and I don't feel like I've stopped moving since work started. And now that work has come to a close, rest is still bereft of me because I don't have much time in Singapore left. So efficiency prevails and I bottle people and activities into days, carrying it with me like a pack of pills. Ever since the festive period petered off, I haven't taken a single picture. I think pictures, although very apt, give an activity way more that it's due. And I guess I don't need a thick stack of photos which enlarge and magnify every single bit of nostalgia within me. Although I'm quite sure in three weeks, I'll live to regret saying this and bemoan my laziness.

I'm veryyyyyyyyy tired. I'm thinking it must be foolish to feel lonely and scared amidst the flurry of fun and 'good days'. But yet, I can't think of anything that makes more sense. If only I had the words to express it. Goodnight :)