there's a price to pay fer everything. and true enough, the cost of a night's enjoyment at clara tan's slumber party with secondary class babes was my own good health.

right now, as i'm typing, i feel faint and groggy. yes, am down with a bad, bad cold and a sore throat, topped with fever. my new identity at home - the germ-spreader. (grudgingly thought up by dad.)

i knew i shouldn't have succumbed to ruffles and royce chocs and holy chilli crab! too late. they're gleefully churning in my tummy as i pathetically sniff on kleenex. and i knew i shouldn't have given in to supper at prata house either. and i knew we shouldn't have stayed up the whole night glued to sex and the city on screen, but who could've helped that? we're all horribly addicted. and come on, it was afterall, a slumber party! and i'm ready to do it all over again (once i get well, tt is) heh.

however, there's bound to be tinges of regret as i lie wide awake in bed at night. yes, every night i'm kept up going through an entire box of kleenex and idly waiting fer dawn to arrive.

cause i can't sleep.
cause i can't breathe. literally.

i'm drowning in my own mucus flood! (fuckin' disgustin') and there's nothing i can do abt it except to keep popping pills, pills and more pills, and to down jugs of water till my tummy bloats.

but i can't seem to be getting any better. and it has been three fucking days. and i am leaving fer canada in less than 48 hrs wtf. the plane ride is gonna take 24 hours (can you believe it) i am so gonna DIE. somebody knock me unconscious before sending me on board. you'll be doing a good deed. sparing me the agony of puking all the way while blowing my nose and coughing like there's no tmr. shucks. now i really am dreading the trip.

due to my current condition, everyday has simply been a snuggle-in-with-good-book-and-good-music day for me, thermometer in mouth and mug in hand. optimistically thinking, this may be a blessing in disguise after all, because i can finally have quality time to go through the stacks of newlyboughtbutleftuntouched books on my table.

Perfume by Patrick Suskind is a must-read, i must say. delightfully gothic (lau would cry with delirious joy) and a grand masterpiece. great writing style - intense, focused, queer, unique. really kept me intensely hooked from beginning to end. layer upon layer of unbelievable thoughts, ideas and rich descriptions piled on as i turned the page - i kept wanting more and more. haha there was no stopping me once i have taken in the first sentence. next, i shall move on to fantasies. (am gonna pounce on Howl's Moving Castle.)

wrapped up in my own world, i am contented. (: