"Why do I do anything?" she says. "I'm educated enough to talk myself out of any plan. To deconstruct any fantasy. Explain away any goal. I'm so smart I can negate any dream." 

Chuck Palahniuk - Choke

surprised

Too lazy to prepare a proper post so I'll just present it in some stream of consciousness way, the way that thoughts actually surface.

Time has passed quite fast, but not really, it's already only 1 week left to passing out,  but you kinda know somewhere in your mind that time never passes fast, it's just hindsight and optimism pairing up to screw with you, it's always been unbearingly slow when the things actually happen, and maybe I'm actually looking forward to abit of change now, and the end of trainee life and the start of a proper 8 to 5 posting. 

The luxury of bookouts has seemed to have worn off, I don't even feel that different walking out of camp on Fridays anymore, I spend the 2 days in my room at my computer, or at breakfast, or lunch, and it's 8am typing, 1pm watching, 1am shivering and 4am surfing, and somehow time passes slower this way. I haven't been out properly for a month, the furthest I've been to is Siglap or Parkway. Not that I mind, might be surprising to me-I dunno.

I feel the urge to take photos again, buying books on technique and theory, looking at my past photos, re-processing them in my head, but I need a camera, and everytime I'm bored at the break of dawn in the heat of the afternoon in the creative flux of midnight I feel like holding a camera in my hand and telling stories.

You have epiphanies in the middle of the week, lying on the floor in your bunk ears restless from the iPod, and you have short-term amnesia by the next hour, so your thoughts are never collected and you have to start from scratch the next time you lie down, so you might as well never begin. You think army isn't that bad after all, your section mates are fun, you're better off than countless other people, you think of disillusionment, you think of outside, inside, everything in between, of the waste and of the and then you forget and you think hey, army isn't that bad after all. Time passes fast and slow and the difference is just memory and reality. I might be exaggerating now, I'm just rambling but what else is a blog post.

Latest events include watching the season finale of Lost and House, the latter being sad, and making me listen to The Rolling Stone's As Tears Go By on repeat. I pre-ordered the new Green Day album and it's good. Every weekend is the same to me, it's breakfast and the computer screen and dinner and the computer screen and sleep and the computer screen and then it's time to go. Cue: 45 minutes from now.

Hey seems like I prepared a proper post after all. You get tired wondering of the best way to make time pass the slowest, and then you get tired wondering of the best way to make time pass the fastest, and all the other time you realise you do this to keep your mind from wondering about other things, more important, you think, or not, and is your mind doing this on purpose? Keeping itself distracted? I feel I've written like a Palahniuk persona having ingested Joyce's Ulysses. But there's always time to crack jokes because that's essential for survival. Just whose, you wonder, or not.

Photo!

I feel like writing something but my mind's blank. Or at least, incoherent. If I become an author one day I'll probably end up publishing a blank book. A piece of postmodern literary genius and a notebook, for the price of one! God, you don't know how much comfort I derive nowadays from just taking refuge from the cold by lying in bed amongst my pillows and listening to my lounge music playlist. I get so many spontaneous fleeting thoughts when I'm bored y'know. Like hey let's walk to Cold Storage, then when I get there I don't know what to do. Or other random stuff that I don't have enough time to implement. I just listened to that subconscious and walked around my yard as if I'm expecting someone and saw Ming Hao's maid walk by. You crazy crazy subconscious you. Weekends are always just too short by one day, like if I had another day to waste and stone around my creative juices will kick in and inspiration will stir like so many goddamned leaves in the wind. I want a camera again. And intellectual books. And that one more day.