It's been a while, hasn't it. Blame twitter and its readily available service of updating my life (within the boundaries of 160 characters, of course) pretty much anytime. 160 characters lets you say alot, most of the time, unless you're all introspective and shit.

I'm ill. Been ill for awhile now. Sore throats, which have graduated to sniffles, and then worked its way up to headaches and bodyaches, followed by the joy of some fevers and finally, fucking laryngitis.

I always get fucking laryngitis. I mean, jeez, seriously.

I was at Borders earlier looking to buy a book by Amy Tan (ANY book by Amy Tan) but it cost like, $30? I'm like, reading leisure doesn't come cheap huh, not even with the advent of the fucking interwebz. So I wa sstanding there, knowing I wasn't gonna buy the book, and I felt the floor shaking. I'm like, shit is it the floor or is it ME? And I moved to the left and I still felt the shaking and I honestly could not tell if it was my feet trembling or the floor shaking. I started making my way to the train station.

I still don't know if it was the floor or me.

I don't want to take an MC because 1) I'm still on probation and regardless of the fact that I am genuinely ill, I don't like to be seen as weak/slacking off. And actually that's really the main reason. The secondary minor reason is that I don't get compensated as I'm still on probation, but I really don't give a shit about that as much as the first reason. I just finished my first month of work and I take an MC?! How fucking weak is that?! Ugh. It disgusts me. I refuse to do it.

And besides, I'm not toppling over or fainting yet, or even remotely close to dying. People take MCs too often now. It's a luxury, isn't it? As long as you're a paying customer I'll give you an MC, the doctor said.

Chung kindly allowed me to leave 30mins earlier in order for me to visit my family doctor. He's great. Cool guy. Cool beans. I think I'm lucky to have a boss who's understanding and cool, yet is still professional.

I would like to be cuddled. It's nice coming home to a bed you can call your own and in which you can roll around in like you're a fucking hippie in a field of weed in the 1960's (or something) but truth is it's nice to be cuddled and kissed and loved... and I don't get any of that during the week because our hours are just impossible.

It makes me a little bit sad but hey girl, suck it up, this is life, keep on walking like fucking Johnny.