flushing of the toilet bowl

somwhow, i have been feeling restless for the past few days.
something is definately bothering me, but i am not sure wat it is.
or mayb i am just not willing to admit it.

random thoughts are drifting in my head.
round n round they go, like a surging river.
but there is nowhere to go.
they are clogged up like a toilet bowl.

i guess, i have not been a good daughter.
i need to strive further and not make the same mistake tat i did last time, thinking that there is still time left.
i have to rein in my temper, do more housework.
i have always been pampered and taken care of all my life.
that needs to change.

was reading through my testimonials on Friendster, and some frens have in the past commented on my quiet strength, my ability to shoulder burdens by myself and move forward positively.
which is all true, by the way.
or rather, it once used to be true in the not so distant past.

i went through so much shit in the past decade that few people knew.
i prided myself on never shedding tears unless i absolutely cun control it.
or faithfully keeping the promise i made to myself 10yrs ago, that i will pack up n move on after 3 days of grief, at most.

now where has my strength all gone to?
to the dogs?

i am disgusted with myself.
and i need to get my strength back somehow.

and u know wat? i hate hospitals.
my dad has for many years been going in n out of hospitals.
now tat he is gone, it's my mum's turn.
i hate hospitals, especially tan tock seng!
i hate the fact i am too familiar with that place.
as we were walking out of the hospital yesterday, my sis bought up the topic of dad again.

"if only that day we had send him to tan tock seng, and not to a jb hospital."

the implication was that he might have lived. the paramedics had successfully revived him after he had collapsed at home. if only we had insisted on sending him by ambulance to the hospital despite his objections.

when he was feeling not feeling well a few hrs later, my bro arrived to fetch him to a jb hospital. if only bro had not listened to him n took him to a local hospital instead. no one at the jb hospital attended to my dad, and by the next day it was too late. sis asked me, y did we all listened to dad?

i too, carried the guilt. where was i when bro was sending dad to hospital? i was on my way out to meet an overseas fren who cane back. when my fren knew wat i did, he told me that if anything happened to my dad, he would feel bad. i just laughed. it was just another hospital trip rite? i can always visit him tomorrow. ya, rite.

bro gave me a scolding today n bought up dad's incident again. i felt so sad. i still carried the guilt that dad died bcos i din did enough. y mention it again?

and i really dun wan to kill mice, especially when they are small, cute n white. i have never killed anything with my bare hands since i was a little kid. its so cruel to kill defenceless things. i dun tink i can do it.

and love. it burns horribly. mayb its my fault that i went in unreservedly, casting all caution to the wind. or mayb its my fault tat i treated it too seriously. i should have played it out, treated it as a game. i shouldn't have opened up. i should have cast a barrier as i always did. now i know better. i shall run the opposite way next time.

mayb now i can get to sleep?

[Edited 8.36am: "The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them—words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear.” —Stephen King
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Ever since I was a tiny girl, I've been the kind of person who feels joy so intensely that it hurts. I would lie in bed, age 6, and press my hand down on my heart, when I was really really happy, because it felt like my heart would come out of my chest. When I've been in love with someone, that's what it feels like.

I wouldn't trade it for the world.

If I can't love someone like that, if I have to "tone it down" in order to get a mate, then obviously love is not for me. Because I can't. I can't tone it down. I have the presence of mind to know that that very intensity is really the best thing about me, and if I have a gift to give? It is THAT. And I can't compartmentalize it - although I have tried that too. I've tried to put that intensity into my "art" compartments - save the intensity for my creative life - and try to be a nice normal steady girlfriend in the OTHER compartment, and not frighten him away. Naturally, this does not work. It's all or nothing. - Sheila
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“Loneliness does not come from having no people about one, but from being unable to communicate to others the things that seem important to oneself, or from holding certain views which others find inadmissible. If a man knows more than others, he becomes lonely.” —Carl Jung