Lucky you: I was actually going to write another horribly perky entry.

Hi, it's me again. So I moved into my new hall last week. And, uh, yeah. Nothing much else has been going on. The food is good, the place is still foreign but I'm happier I guess. The people have been pretty nice too. And this is the part I proclaim my lack of social grace. Quick! Run while you still can! They have mostly been quite welcoming. I'm just not sure where I fit in. Am I that socially challenged. I hate being so weak. Always waiting around for something better, needing to ask someone for help. Why can't I cope myself? But neither could I forego all social interaction and just be by myself. I'm a little fed up. That's about it, really. It's, hmm, sunny outside too. Which is nice.

I get serious urges to write sometimes. It somehow makes my perspective seem a little more real. Like there's actually a purpose behind all the meaningless things around. But who am I writing for? I have this notebook of scribblings which will never see daylight, so maybe it's for some imaginary people in my head. Though I'm pretty sure that's one step away from Schizophrenia.

Yes, I do realize how silly I sound right now. And I give you permission to judge me... now. No, wait. Okay, now.

Perspective.

I’ve always loved Chinese New Year because wherever you go, people will always have food welcoming. The lovely little pineapple tarts and the sugar-induced madness! Goodness, I am still trembling uncontrollably from the sugar! Exclamation! I must have eaten at least a dozen in each house, and OH MY GOD MY HEART. It can’t take so much sweet, sugary love. But I was so happy! So happy, that now I am trying to find the right keys on the keyboard thing but it’s hard because my hands are a blur! This shaking... It'll burn calories though, right? Right.

Could you tell I was overly nervous meeting my relatives? The night before judgement day, my heart was racing. I kept thinking of my cousins, and how we could never be friends. Like Japan and the whales! Frodo and the One Ring! Rugby and the Superbowl! I was fighting off sleep so they wouldn’t come and steal my brain. About an hour of frantic worrying later, I accidentally fall asleep. Only to be awoken at eight by my heart racing at breakneck speed. My parents were concerned (just because), but I was furious. You don’t get it, I shouted! I’m going to crack under their severe scrutiny!

Finally, after much weeping and cursing and demanding that God explain why I had to go, I was swept off hither to their houses. And lo! They took one look at me and said, well, hello, distant relative! You’re early! (That may not have been their exact words. Maybe.) My cousin Sarah started the “How’s Australia?” initiative, which was nice. And they watched me inhale their pineapple tarts with general wonder. In any case, I have never been so relaxed around them. Sarah is taking Sports Medicine at UWA, Andrea is in Perth volunteering, Esther wants to be a Child Psychologist, David plays the bass, and even Uncle Paul’s speeches on the nefarious nature of gambling did nothing to lessen my mood (which normally would probably have made me incoherent with rage.)

And because I was so wired from the sugar, I couldn’t sleep that night, and I wondered if it’s time to wind up this little ditty of a blog. There’s nothing much to talk (or bitch) about, except maybe my cookies (you’ll be surprised how many ways a cookie can go wrong. You would think that as long as you don’t forget the sugar, or replace the butter with petrol, everything will fall into place obediently. HA.) But sometimes, I find myself narrating my life like an inner monologue (in third person!) “She lay in bed bitching about the sorry state of her life, while imagining falling asleep on millions of scurrying tiny bedbugs.” Or “occasionally she feels like she’s too selfish to ever love anyone more than herself.” I don’t know, blogging has made me aware of how I always seem to be on the edge. Maybe it’s just the cupfuls of sugar coursing through my veins. We’ll see.

It’s one week from my departure day to Aussie, and I can’t help feeling a little excited. Not so much for that hateful, hateful plane ride, but being by myself again, and actually getting something done. I’m exhausted. But you know what I could really go for right now? A pineapple tart.

Of London and a shiny, happy fit of rage.

I was dreaming that I was in London. One minute I was the airport, the other I was sitting on a shitty thirteen-hour flight to Heathrow. That’s strange, I thought. And I hopped off the plane, and headed to Euston, where I stayed at an overpriced hotel with my mom (my mom is in this dream too, because she has business meetings to attend to here, and who else would pay the bill?) Then the next day, while she met up with her colleagues, I went to Buckingham Palace to visit the Queen and her many ducks.

I also went to visit St. Paul’s Cathedral, which was beautiful. And for a short while at least, I was convinced I wasn’t by myself.

Afterward, everyone met up for dinner at Rules, the supposed oldest restaurant in London. It was a very classy restaurant, and I was quite impressed, till the manager proclaimed proudly that King George used to bring his mistress here! (Oooh, the scandal!)(To which I found excessively funny.) We ate in the Charles Dickens Room, where I realized how fun my mom’s colleagues were. Her boss is so cool. He even taught me how to appreciate wine. So turns out, London is a pretty cool place (pun not only intended, but planned.)

So it is a week later, and I’m back home. And I have to revolve my unremitting guilt from hiding this marvelous thing from you. There is this unspeakably cool movie that is coming out. That’s right, it’s Juno. And the sheer awesomeness of that movie is mind-bottling. I do realize this is almost a shameless plug toward consumerism, but go watch it. Go on. I’ll wait right here.

Zy came over last night, and she made the almost-fatal mistake of bringing up politics in our conversation. I don’t know why, but talking about music, politics or religion just gets me all riled up. I was this close to screaming and shaking her. I don’t want to think about it. (Liar! I wanted to know exactly what I could have said to change her camp from Clinton to Obama. Not only have I been obsessing about it, I have been inviting others to argue with me.) And I just couldn’t let it go. Because 1) I can’t let anyone go by believing Clinton would be a good president, and 2) I know I’m right, and that happens all the time. Because I know my relatives at Chinese New Year are judging, always judging. They get together at the end of it all and mock my political choices. Yeah, that’s right, just politics. I know how it goes.

In conclusion, don’t bring up politics during the New Year. And just avoid me like the plague this festive period. You’ll thank me later.