我做一个REMUNERATION REPORT，花了好多个小时reconcile fees，以为大功快要告成的时候，发现有一张INVOICE和我以为的彻底地不一样。

于是我觉得很悲伤。

因为是星期一凌晨三四点了。

我于是跑进厕所，看着镜子骂骂咧咧地自言自语：你以为还能再年轻回去么？

然后在放it had to be you。 我也搞不清楚这是什么鬼日子。

　　Vicky Christina Barcelona里头那个casanova的的老爹，据说能写特别好的诗歌，但是从来不发表，因为从小变立志报复世人，剥夺他们接触美好事物的机会。
　　
　　自己写给自己读，居然不憋闷至死，这样的强悍神经，非常人所能。
　　
　　前一段去看《美好生活》，看的我眼泪花花，当然，我泪点好象一直很低的。恶心地来说，是感同身受。维尼是在一个进不去又出不来的坑里朝九晚五，每天重复着相同的routine，打铃醒，打铃睡，她的求知欲非常旺盛，经常渴望学点新东西，不过也只限于拿着放大镜看牙刷上的字。她时不时对自己说，哦，这是多么美好的一天啊。有时她会沉浸在回忆里，不过总能自拔。

　　看上去全然没有挣扎的样子，观者当赞颂她努力乐观地面对生活。　
　
　　她热爱说话，说话给她的老公维利听。她总是问，你听到了吗，你听到了吗，你说呢，你觉得呢。这不是单纯的发泄，而是试图感知自己的语言在他人身上产生的作用。与其说她渴望表达，不如说她渴望被听到。

　　于是我觉得，贝克特，多么地伟大啊。

　　

Says Mrs Austen:

Affection is desirable, but money, is absolutely indispensable.

我最近在看的书是Tolstoy - Essays on Art & What is art.

过两天Malthouse演Beckett的Happy Days，今天K问我是什么来的。

我说:

it's a samuel beckett play, about a woman who's buried from chest down, all she does all day long is talking to herself, or to her husband who's not really listening. I am going to see it, simply because it suits my mood.

是的，我刚回家不久。

Cutler & Co很好。非常好。可惜时间不够。

Flickr有个365project，意思是每天一张照一张相片，照够365天。不知道有没有同学想跟我一起进行的。

可以互相鼓励一下。

我快变傻了。

Drinking buddy

Vodka doesnt do the tricks any more these days.

I was happy and joyous when I left Silk Road, after one martini and lots of laughters. K is such a fun drinking buddy.  If I left DD, she would be the only person I would truly miss, badly miss. You just don't find someone who likes Gone with the Wind as much as you do so easily, and sailor moon, and of course, martinis. and the fondness and understanding in food and wine.

Friday night

K went home to her hubby and in laws, and I went on.

 The thing I miss about ASL, is the people, and the Friday nights get together. Amanda's ever so lovely, and so is everyone else. Compared to that, DD is a shit hole.

Friday night is the best time of the week, no matter how obscure IF is, and the crowds, weird looking people, not half as glamourous as Silk Road or nice as the Wine Shop. But hey, it's our joint.

Loss

I hardly speak my mother tongue these days, not that I have mastered the other language so perfectly well. But i do find that it's easier, for me, sometimes, to express myself, in letters.

Carla's going back to the UK, permanently. I said, what about Greg. She goes, it's not the easiest thing. She spent the past 8 years with Greg, built a house together, shared a life together. She goes: some of the nights we would just hug each other and cry, but life goes on.

Nick left the firm today. I like him, obviously as a colleague, although I haven't spoken to him much, it's like we share the same kind of deprecating sense of humour. He's fun to speak to and hang out with. The firm is too rigid for a gay person.

I said to K i should follow suit. And god bless the girl, she said: like wise.

Cuff links

Bought a shirt, a tie and a pair of cuff links for my dear cousins, each, of course. Rhodes Beckett, advice from the Wesley boy, can't go too wrong. It's an elegant thing, French cuffs and cuff links. Pretentious as they may be, i like the looks. For the boys, it's always important that they know what is out there, and have a taste of it. Like it or not, you ve been there and done that, that part's settled.

Reality

As i said, Vodka doesnt do the tricks any more. So there I was, perfectly sober, after  i dont really know how many, in my 15cm heels, feeling miserable. The girls were going dancing, and i was going home. Lots of hugs and take cares. lots of love ya babes.

It's not real.

I miss LP. I was going to say, i miss my LP. but he's not mine. But he's real. He's so real that he's a dream.

第一，我的视力，从小到大都是在1点5和1点2之间徘徊的视力，今天正式降落到1点零和0点75。我觉得很伤心。都在离我远去，连我的眼睛也不例外。

第二，当我又在一点多钟的时候走出公司大门的时候。我想，下辈子不做人了。不过，转念又一想，其实做牛做马，也未必会开心多少饿。可能会更伤心。

爱一个人的时候，做什么事情都诚惶诚恐。即使他看不见，关心不到，你也一厢情愿，觉得他灵魂就在左近，空闲的很，无事可做，只时时刻刻死死盯着你，比爱你的人还要在乎你的一举一动。

牙缝里塞了条菜，若是在他面前，可导致夜夜失眠，随地脸红，换个场地，最多是打骂的笑料。

更不要说什么口吐真言的事情了。

我是不相信迟钝这一说的。神经大条，只对我不爱之人。对我深爱之人，心有千千结。

譬如你借她最爱的书，约她看日落之前，送她只盛viognier的酒杯，若干年后，她偏偏说自己没有并没有觉得异样，着实迟钝，十分内疚。

或者是真傻，或者是装傻。其实觉得了又怎么样，她又不爱你，只好睁只眼闭只眼，一股脑儿都是神经的错。

人间美好之事，大多求不得。

你以为那是张没捅破的纸，其实那是层捅不破的牛皮。

　　每次我发博客的时候，其实都是十万火急赶功课的时候。

　　比如现在，半夜两点钟。写博客，蒸红薯。

　　但报告拖了两个礼拜了，看到彼德的批示，please provide me with an update ASAP.

　　我是一个最分不清楚主次的人。

　　所以周末的活计，是三姐妹，riesling，bikram yoga，Prahran Market。就因为做yujia出了一点汗，所以报复性地买了大量cheese，报复性地吃了大量。然后现在写报告。

　　为什么会去做accounting。找条活路这样么？

　　很depressed的是，新来的小伙子，还比我小一个月，居然S1。这些口含银匙出生的年轻人。所以不能够比。我时刻告诫自己，千万不可有上升进取之心。

　　我总是不相信选择这个东西的。说到底，其实只有一条路。

　　选择是一个巨大无比的谎言，就是为了欺骗你在每天早晨醒来的时候，觉得人生还有希望。

　　而希望并不是什么实在的物事，之所以美好，不过因为它永不会成真。
　　

　　

Socialability.

People, know, that I am anti-social.

It has never been my intention to cover it up, or, make it look otherwise. And I am happily miserable in my secluded world, feeling bitter sweet.  and I have long given up trying to be socialble.

self-accommodating.

Conversation.

Conversations are naturally important, it's exciting and stimulating to find a person with whom you can converse, share your ideas, object to them, or inspire new ideas -  interaction, proper human interaction. Maggie Alderson describes in her book a kind of conversation, which involves no actual exchange of ideas, but exchange of information. It will start off by A talking about what his/her favourite episode of Friends is, without exploring further into it, B will cut in and present his preference, and so will C, and D, and E.

It is almost like piling up pieces of junk, like cocktails that have layers and layers of alcohol that don't mix, it's like oil floating on top of water, there is no infusion, no inclusion, no exchange. No "Why", no "Because", no "How", no "But". It is knowing all the algebra formulas but not able to solve a simple question.

Dull, but inevitable.

Autumn leaves

I sometimes wonder, how many people walking down Collins/Queen/Williams Street would notice, that it is autumn -- not by the amount of garments they pull over or put on themselves, but by noticing the changing colours of the leaves.

Red, gold, green, brown, in the backdrop of grey city sky, sandstone building of the Supreme Court, moisty, frosty air. You almost want to embrace yourself, do a little dance score, you think of good times, romance, nolstagia.

I took a stroll in Treasury Garden in an autumn morning, in solitude, with Saturday Age in my hand.  I couldnt resist it. It was way too beautiful to by-pass. I walked a bit, then sat on the wooden bench, breathing, reading about the love between two homeless gay men, newest architectual experiment in New York, and everything else that is interesting and beyond the Collins Street's suits.

And when I looked at the golden leaves scattered around the green grass withing morning dew dancings on them, I wish i could paint, sketch, or do something. SOMETHING. I wish there was music, Schubert maybe, "Ellens dritter Gesang", "Standchen" (Horowitz), or Bach's Ave Maria will do, with CELLO, music that 's made for autumn.

I know this natural palette will not last long, soon it will be winter and the everything will be crisp and cold, then I will have to wait for another 365 days, to be able to step on some autumn leaves and smile, humming "On the street where you live".

Positive people.

I find them incredibly boring.

People who have perfectly positive outlook of live, career, people who do not understand self-deprecation. People who find Dylan Moran bland. People who are goal oriented. People who don't give up.

Obnoxious.

Send in the clowns.

Has anyone seen Judi Dench's rendition of "Send in the clowns"?

I should never have come. I am sorry. To flirt with rescue, when one has no intention of being saved.

i dined and wined on Friday at the European, which is a very nice bistro, again on spring street - hearty meal, rabbit pie and the heavenly souffle. thought i d go to borders a pick up something for the wkend and ended up with this maggie alderson book.

got up saturday morning, head's in explosion mode. slept slept and started reading it.

but boy, how amazingly bland but hilarious this book is. I haven't laughed so hard for awhile, you know, whilst reading a book.

Truth is, I have been reading books that are deemed not to be laughed, appropriate fiction, eg, rice mother, which i was recently drawn to  - courtesy of a friend upon whom i requested a light hearted time killer -  was about a century long struggle of an indian woman, and her six children, in malaya. Rather well written, those sort of books that you don't mind being seen reading - so yeah i take it with me every morning and read on public transport - it's not a hard read - unlike "language instinct", which i am still 10 pages advanced.

at about 8:30 pm i found myself lying on my belly on the sofa and laughing like mad, i thought to myself - how typically spinsterish can one get than this?

then i got up and felt like some tea, so i boiled some water and made myself some lipton white tea - my recent favourite, and just while i was sipping it, i thought, i have just achived a whole new level of spinstership.

i couldnt help but smile, self-consciousness is a curse. but i do find myself funny sometimes.

都要怪记忆树这个饽饽，她说：

“烟雨皇城，有了一点江南的面貌。偌大的街道，除了深深浅浅的绿，就只有潜行其中的寂寞。”

这里也下雨了，点点滴滴。

我突然想过正常的温暖的生活。有烟火色，有新闻联播的前奏。