Balloons and bicycles. How apt.
This really is the face of Drooping Ballast. And no, it is not a spelling error.

Lillian, Lillian, Lillian.
I don't understand the girl. Or as Bert says, "I just can't figure you."
I've tried to relate to all of those sad breakup experiences, listened to sad breakup songs, read sad breakup poems, watched sad breakup videos, heard sad breakup stories, and still, Lillian, I can't understand you. I just can't understand you.

Clare shared with me what he felt of Lillian's character, and I must say, it is a fresh perspective. And Emelynn said that she thought Lillian was some hot young thing too, but honestly, I felt she was a casual dresser. Maybe I'm too close-minded to be playing someone like Lillian. Hahah, the irony. Not like Lillian's some great thinker of the 21st Century or something.

But Lil, Lil, Lil, I really don't want to have to bother with you anymore, you annoy me so much. Simon, I should introduce you to Lil one day. She haunts my thoughts (she's not supposed to), and she blows my brains (she's not supposed to) and she gives me a heavy feeling in my heart (she's not supposed to).

Victime de ma victoire - indeed.

I am merely wishing and hoping and praying, that the rest of my days, up till April 14th, or - whenever - will be kept fresh and light-hearted, not overplayed and foreboding. Till then, I should not experience depression, or glee.


29th and 30th March - E-learning Days!
Yeah right, like its slackish. Well, its not. I feel absolutely disorganised, and I wonder how I am ever gonna ever be able to do and learn all this all by myself? SDL gives me the creeps. Somehow, I don't trust myself that much to understand, I'd be more assured if I were under supervision.

Maybe I'm annoyed at everything around me, or maybe I'm just really ticked off because I have gotten myself just so freaking disorganised, and I'm losing myself. I wonder what I can do now. Of course there's time to sit and start organising. But Simon, I can't do it. I don't know, do I live by my moods? I don't know what to do anymore. Its like, I'm doing things in a regimented, disorderly manner. I can't even construct proper sentences anymore. Half of me feels like its dysfunctional - is it?

Maybe I should just meditate. Maybe I should convince myself to turn fully fully truly goth, so I should paint my room black, paint my nails black, be white-faced and wear super thick black eyelinder, and start dripping blood (fake/real) on the floors, and wear leather and silver all the time. And then, maybe, just maybe, I can start slashing myself and be emo and shock people around me and getting myself pierced and tattooed, and maybe even shaving my head bald and inserting plastic horns into my scalp because "I'm supposed to", being a "True Goth".

And hey, why not an even crazier idea? Maybe I should just sit and stare out there, and think. And maybe I should start writing. I read somewhere that you should write down your frustrations. So Simon, what frustrations do you think I have? Because I can't think for myself anymore. Don't you see, Simon, you, and I, we are controlled, by a superpower. I wrote a poem for you that day, Simon. I wrote it with my heart. Maybe one day, you should read it.


Here's to "my" favourite poet, ee cummings.

in just-

in Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame balloonman
whistles far and wee

and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer
old balloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing
from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it's spring
and the goat-footed
balloonMan whistles
far
and
wee

Fly balloon. Fly.