--v--<@ A flower that grows despite cement holes @>--v--
No time to think.....
Monday, October 18, 2004
7:30am. Wake up. ZZzzzzzzzzz.... I hear a distant ringing in my dreams. It gets louder and louder and louder and LOUDER! Alarm ring... snooze... 5 minutes... snooze... 5 minutes... snooze... The alarm ring again. 7:45am! Gosh! I jump out of my bed like a monkey with its naked butt on fire.
Just another work day.
What was my dream? Ringing... yea... no time to think. Late for work. Drag my wretched body out of the warm cozy bed, leaving my scent lingering under the blanket... powerful sleep inducer. Dread another morning. Wash my face to wash away the sleepiness with cold icy water. All senses pry open by the coldness. But the mind is weak... my heart longs for another 5 minutes.
Morning after.
After gulping down the scorching hot milo, the steam takes me off to the train station, only to die on me at the station gate. All this while, there’s only one word in my mind. Sleep. I tow my 2 tonnes legs to get me inside the train. And this time round, the eyes are on high alert to look for empty seat. All senses and brain cells are focused on the one and only, sole, singular goal, to beat that auntie standing next to me for the next empty seat. Other processes for the brain are put on hold. That guy holding the Straits Times seems like a potential target to drop off the train soon. What's on the news? Tension between China and the insubordinate piece of naming calling snot across its straits ... Taiwan. Some stinking politics. Is the Iraq war justified? Nah... no time to think.
No interest what so ever.
The incessant routine of typing emails begins. While waiting for the 93 emails to download, once again, I lug myself to the pantry to make myself some stimulant - coffee. Spacing out to the faraway land of lullaby, who cares about the latest make of the plastics injection moulding machine that is capable of producing nano sized parts? It is not as if like Bayer opening a new technology hub in Shanghai would be more exciting than Minister of Environment planting a new tree in Ang Mo Kio for the National Environmental Week.
Oh well...
Where is the journalistic integrity and excitement in news coverage that I watch on CNN and movies and the adrenaline rush from taking those powerful pictures that journalists risk lives for during war times, like that unforgettable picture of a student standing in front of the tank in Tian An Men and the pair of forlorn eyes that belongs to an Afghanistan girl? Forget it! Take pictures with the machine model and serial number, not forgetting the CEO or director... and remind them to smile.
We have to be politically correct. No humour, no speculation, no deduction and forecasting. We have to be factually correct. That's the kind of journalistic integrity that I have to uphold in the industrial magazine I'm writing for. Forget about trying to be smart, it is banned.
Boring
You want to try new writing style. You want to suggest changes to the editorial coverage. You will come back with hordes of ruthless criticisms and defensive retorts slapped on your face for trying to change the system that is established by the almighty editor herself who had consulted the wisdom of the great grand editors and consultants. For my own good, just be a dog and fetch when told. Basically, mind my own business. What can I think of about my future with this magazine?
Zilch
You have to look like you are slogging your way through all the work while others can walk around discussing about which watch model they want to purchase... Longines or Omega? Fashion watch or classic watch? They flip through the magazines pages over and over again to discuss the pros and cons of each model while I write about the pros and cons of using a longer runner for injection moulding machine.
Fuck off
Where do I see myself in the next five years? You want my interview answer or the real answer? Interview answer is I would love to see myself with this company and grow with magazine and possibly establishing myself as a prominent figure in the plastics news. Real answer is get the hell outta here get a life.
What kind of life is that?
Haven't had time to think. More like busy dealing with politics and dodging away to prevent myself from bearing the brunt of any thing that might go wrong. Just know I want to walk out of this chapter of my life.
How?
Dunno. Dealing with the everyday issues is extremely daunting as it is already and pushing myself to be an efficient worker would have zap the life out of me. Labour for other people's dreams, that is what I am doing.
6pm
Time to go! But hell no! My drafts are rejected again and she wants to see them tomorrow morning. My luck. Appointments of any sort after work are not viable excuses to delay submitting the drafts; otherwise you'll be labeled as single handedly delaying the entire production process of the magazine.
9pm
My feet are cold from the cold shafts of air coming from the bottom of my table. My fingers are getting retarded and brain (it's still there?!) slows down to the speed of 28.8K modem in transferring information between my fingers and brain (I think it's still there...) Inspiration runs dry and I bet they are still not the ideal drafts that she wants to see.
9:30pm
No dinner... took the fifth cup of coffee for today. There is a light drizzle outside. This dreadful weather looks set to make me just as pathetic as the sour looking dried plums sitting in the company pantry.
...
...
...
10pm
Brain on auto pilot mode. Fingers typing away without brain functioning. One of the greatest ability that I have acquired working for others. One of the greatest ability that I have acquired. One of the greatest ability that I have acquired... Erm... What did I just typed?
10:30pm and I am still freaking stuck here?!? Go out, get a life and a dinner!
From here onwards, the body takes over. The sluggish body is being dictated by a hungry and empty stomach and food scavenging is the sole objective. After which, the limbs are on first gear all the way back home for a nice warm shower to remind the brain that its sensory functions are still in existence. And not forgetting, a good dosage of senseless channel 5 and 8 sitcoms and late night shows that are fittingly slotted as late night shows... because no one watch them... derh.
No time to think at all...
If you are still reading, good for you. I don't know how I managed to go so far with this kind of life. Time to scroll back and start all over again and scroll back again 5 times. If you can't stand reading it, neither could it.
No time to think at all...
======================================
Life of a desk bound jobber. Any resemblance of anyone dead, living or half dead half living are purely coincidental.
Renee Chua A flower that refuses to let the cement close in on her... she fights her way through to fight for her rights to sunshine and rain...yet never lose her beauty to the weather...
Likes: Humanity
Jazz, new age, alternative, acid jazz, soft rock music
Watch and read a good play
Direct and act in a few excellent plays
Photography
Designing
A good hearty laugh
Dislikes: Snobs and bitches (same category)
Those who just wanna make life difficult for others
Drivers who can't make up their mind which lane to drive on
The self contradicting systems in my country
MY TAGBOARD
No time to think.....
Monday, October 18, 2004
7:30am. Wake up. ZZzzzzzzzzz.... I hear a distant ringing in my dreams. It gets louder and louder and louder and LOUDER! Alarm ring... snooze... 5 minutes... snooze... 5 minutes... snooze... The alarm ring again. 7:45am! Gosh! I jump out of my bed like a monkey with its naked butt on fire.
Just another work day.
What was my dream? Ringing... yea... no time to think. Late for work. Drag my wretched body out of the warm cozy bed, leaving my scent lingering under the blanket... powerful sleep inducer. Dread another morning. Wash my face to wash away the sleepiness with cold icy water. All senses pry open by the coldness. But the mind is weak... my heart longs for another 5 minutes.
Morning after.
After gulping down the scorching hot milo, the steam takes me off to the train station, only to die on me at the station gate. All this while, there’s only one word in my mind. Sleep. I tow my 2 tonnes legs to get me inside the train. And this time round, the eyes are on high alert to look for empty seat. All senses and brain cells are focused on the one and only, sole, singular goal, to beat that auntie standing next to me for the next empty seat. Other processes for the brain are put on hold. That guy holding the Straits Times seems like a potential target to drop off the train soon. What's on the news? Tension between China and the insubordinate piece of naming calling snot across its straits ... Taiwan. Some stinking politics. Is the Iraq war justified? Nah... no time to think.
No interest what so ever.
The incessant routine of typing emails begins. While waiting for the 93 emails to download, once again, I lug myself to the pantry to make myself some stimulant - coffee. Spacing out to the faraway land of lullaby, who cares about the latest make of the plastics injection moulding machine that is capable of producing nano sized parts? It is not as if like Bayer opening a new technology hub in Shanghai would be more exciting than Minister of Environment planting a new tree in Ang Mo Kio for the National Environmental Week.
Oh well...
Where is the journalistic integrity and excitement in news coverage that I watch on CNN and movies and the adrenaline rush from taking those powerful pictures that journalists risk lives for during war times, like that unforgettable picture of a student standing in front of the tank in Tian An Men and the pair of forlorn eyes that belongs to an Afghanistan girl? Forget it! Take pictures with the machine model and serial number, not forgetting the CEO or director... and remind them to smile.
We have to be politically correct. No humour, no speculation, no deduction and forecasting. We have to be factually correct. That's the kind of journalistic integrity that I have to uphold in the industrial magazine I'm writing for. Forget about trying to be smart, it is banned.
Boring
You want to try new writing style. You want to suggest changes to the editorial coverage. You will come back with hordes of ruthless criticisms and defensive retorts slapped on your face for trying to change the system that is established by the almighty editor herself who had consulted the wisdom of the great grand editors and consultants. For my own good, just be a dog and fetch when told. Basically, mind my own business. What can I think of about my future with this magazine?
Zilch
You have to look like you are slogging your way through all the work while others can walk around discussing about which watch model they want to purchase... Longines or Omega? Fashion watch or classic watch? They flip through the magazines pages over and over again to discuss the pros and cons of each model while I write about the pros and cons of using a longer runner for injection moulding machine.
Fuck off
Where do I see myself in the next five years? You want my interview answer or the real answer? Interview answer is I would love to see myself with this company and grow with magazine and possibly establishing myself as a prominent figure in the plastics news. Real answer is get the hell outta here get a life.
What kind of life is that?
Haven't had time to think. More like busy dealing with politics and dodging away to prevent myself from bearing the brunt of any thing that might go wrong. Just know I want to walk out of this chapter of my life.
How?
Dunno. Dealing with the everyday issues is extremely daunting as it is already and pushing myself to be an efficient worker would have zap the life out of me. Labour for other people's dreams, that is what I am doing.
6pm
Time to go! But hell no! My drafts are rejected again and she wants to see them tomorrow morning. My luck. Appointments of any sort after work are not viable excuses to delay submitting the drafts; otherwise you'll be labeled as single handedly delaying the entire production process of the magazine.
9pm
My feet are cold from the cold shafts of air coming from the bottom of my table. My fingers are getting retarded and brain (it's still there?!) slows down to the speed of 28.8K modem in transferring information between my fingers and brain (I think it's still there...) Inspiration runs dry and I bet they are still not the ideal drafts that she wants to see.
9:30pm
No dinner... took the fifth cup of coffee for today. There is a light drizzle outside. This dreadful weather looks set to make me just as pathetic as the sour looking dried plums sitting in the company pantry.
...
...
...
10pm
Brain on auto pilot mode. Fingers typing away without brain functioning. One of the greatest ability that I have acquired working for others. One of the greatest ability that I have acquired. One of the greatest ability that I have acquired... Erm... What did I just typed?
10:30pm and I am still freaking stuck here?!? Go out, get a life and a dinner!
From here onwards, the body takes over. The sluggish body is being dictated by a hungry and empty stomach and food scavenging is the sole objective. After which, the limbs are on first gear all the way back home for a nice warm shower to remind the brain that its sensory functions are still in existence. And not forgetting, a good dosage of senseless channel 5 and 8 sitcoms and late night shows that are fittingly slotted as late night shows... because no one watch them... derh.
No time to think at all...
If you are still reading, good for you. I don't know how I managed to go so far with this kind of life. Time to scroll back and start all over again and scroll back again 5 times. If you can't stand reading it, neither could it.
No time to think at all...
======================================
Life of a desk bound jobber. Any resemblance of anyone dead, living or half dead half living are purely coincidental.
