Light My Fire

I’m fighting fiercely with the urge to smoke a cigarette at the moment and I’m thinking of ways and means to go some place and be alone so that I can enjoy one. But, I’m not going to do that. It is moments like these that I start to wonder how the hell did I start smoking in the first place. It is a habit that I don’t take home with me as I still live with me mom and dad, who, strongly believe that apart from it being damaging, it is also just not proper for young women to smoke.
I wouldn’t say that I had been improper for that long, but I sure do know that the longer I enjoy this excruciating pleasurable habit, the harder it will be to give it up.
I use to despise the smell of smoke from cigarettes and wonder how anybody could pick up such a habit. I knew it would be something that I would never do. I also now know that things you once said can have a way of turning around and gnawing you back in the arse.
With down to two sticks a day on average now for the pass month, I believe I’ve done pretty well for myself after trying countless times on kicking the habit to the point of being pathetic occasionally. A few days ago, my lighter, which was in my pocket, took a plunge into the toilet bowl and drowned. I’m a woman. I suppose you can roughly guess how that happened.
I was cursing like mad… not because I had to picked it up, but that I could no longer use it. It was like any ordinary el cheapo lighter that you could get at 7-Eleven. But being the sentimental fool that I am, with a tendency to horde little things like these, it sure was my favorite. It had a smooth way of lighting up and I never had to (zip?) it twice. I find that something becomes especially precious and special to you, when only you can see the beauty in it, whatever it may be. Yes, even a freaking lighter.

Of nothings and somethings..

This is only my second post, and already I’m trying to imagine how I’m going to actually keep up with posting something every alternate day, or two posts in a week for that matter. Then again, does it really matter?
I really think blogging could be a form of therapy. I love the idea that I can say the first thing that comes to my mind, the simplest and tiniest of things that made me happy and feel alive today and throwing questions that no one have answers to into the great void.
I’ve seen some great work of blogs and have been inspired by they’re writing and art. Although I would like to be able to inspire people one day as well… I’m no great writer, and don’t even come close to being a good one. I probably haven’t gone through enough with life yet to be able to share experiences, wise words and wisdom. I’m just contented with rambling about nothing at the moment.
Speaking of rambling, I was on the phone with a good friend the other day and we realise how we were basically talking about… nothing. "Nothing", meaning nothing really substantial or worth pondering on. I mean, people are always talking about something. But, we were just yacking about whatever we read in the papers that day, how her car was failing her, how my blister hurt…etc. But it felt really good that I was talking to a friend who I knew cared that I was her friend, which made all that rambling about nothing meant more to me than so many somethings.
Which is why I don’t give jack shit if what I’ve said here made sense, or rots in future posts for that matter. I’m sure I’ll be forgiven.

What am I doing?

I used to tell myself that I would never post anything on the internet about myself much less imagine that I would actually do it one day. I just don't understand why anybody would want to announce whats going on with their lives. Yea, I'm a bloody hypocrite and I don't care.

Its just that I've been reading alot of blogs lately and realise that I'm just a parasite. Its like these fellas; the other bloggers have unselfishly shared what was so personal about themselves but I had not. I have read their stories, post my comments sometimes, realise some things that I never did, laugh aloud at their witty remarks and selfishly feel good about myself knowing that my problems and dilemma aren't that much bigger than anybody elses, but that they're just mine.

The other reason to it is that I have been suffering from insomnia lately, which started after I quitted my job last month. Its not like I'm unemployed at the moment. I'm helping a friend out in his business, a 9 to 6 job, while on the lookout for something more permanent. AND that I've reach a point in my life where I'm totally uncertain of where I'm heading, what I'm doing and wonder if I'm really the kind of person I think I am. I suppose this explains the insomnia. Damn, I hate it.

I suppose theres more to that. The last job was a good one. But, have you heard of that particular saying that people leave bosses and people and not their job? That saying couldn't have fit me better. Lets just say that my previous job was a hell hole. I couldn't have met the most outrageous, absolutely demeaning people in one small office, apart from having had a boss who didn't think much of women. My self esteem was just going downhill, my level of frustration was hitting the roof and I just had to get out. It was a real fucking situation for anybody to be in.

Anway, I suppose thats just life. Sometimes things work out, sometimes things don't. Sometimes good things come your way, sometimes they don't. Perhaps this is just a test. I don't know. Damn, who am I kidding? I'm just trying to console myself and trying even harder to sound positive . Its alot more difficult coping.

The good thing is.. my eye lids are starting to feel heavy and I'm going to try and capitalise on this strange relax feeling before I miss it.