Monday, March 22

Motifs Are For Cowards...

Should be writing academic papers.

But I am not. Clearly.

Instead, I watched a few episodes of Dexter with my mom and cooked dinner. Geez. There's a lot of nudity and cursing...and romanticizing/eroticizing of murder. I mean, I'm all for shock-and-awe quality shows, reactionary writing, etc. But why bother when you've typecasted the supporting characters? The protagonist is fascinating, yes (I'd say I've got a bit of a crush, even. You know how I have a fetish for sociopaths)---and the depth of character is both compelling and refreshing. The rest of the lot? Not so much.

I'd write about the Electra-complexed younger sister, the boring female lead, the tyrannical mother-in-law, the British flousy, the angry Black cop, the flamboyant Latino, or the sassy Latina officer trying to get ahead in a man's world, but I'm not in the mood to discuss racist undertones and patriarchal practices right now.


Finally processed my previous conversation (and after having a nice chat with Pierce about it) I've come to the conclusion that Andrew isn't 'the one'. I'm good with that. He's just sort of there. He doesn't really have a reason to be there. He just is.

And I'm glad Pierce is supporting my delusions of grandeur. It really does make me happy. :)


I made Yellow Curry for tonight's dinner and decided to get a little fancy with the rice. Instead of just steaming some Jasmine in water, I used vegetable stock instead. I added ginger, thyme, and diced almonds into the rice cooker. I wouldn't say it was my best culinary experiment---namely 'cos we're so use to eating curry with plain rice, but it definitely beat out the crap that Alan and I ate for lunch today. It's a shame that his first experience with Thai food was a bad one. Oh well. He'll never be a complete hipster now.

I think my stomach is actually upset from that Pad Sa Eew. It was...gross. Sorry. I don't want to be mean, but it was really bad. And I was so hopeful, too! :(


I'm rambling. Because I just got yelled at. I'd like to pretend that I'm fine and that I can just shake it off. I know that once I stop typing, I'm going to start moping and brooding. I don't want to be that person anymore. I'm practicing gratitude.

I am grateful, friend. I am grateful for this beating body. I am grateful for the privileged life and perspective I hold. I am grateful for the future endeavors to bring about social justice and equality which I will embark upon.

I am grateful for my parents, even though they think me indifferent and cold. For the best friends who tolerate my bullshit.For the boy who doesn't really love me, but seems to at times. For the teachers who seem to see in me what I will not see in myself.

With love, always.


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