it's 4.20 in the am and I really need to sleep cos ive got a bloody long day tomorrow that ends with me singing a lot. but I can't. Cos some canine is barking it's weeny little lungs out and God help me as I devolve into a vicious little bitch myself.

I hope Mr. pup-pup gets rabies and chew's Mr Owner's legs off.

On a seperate note, I'm wondering where I went. The Hannah that found simple joy in reading political philisophy and finding God between the fine lines of the print. My life was simple then, and I only had one vision: Self-betterment, intellectually, academically, spiritually and emotionally. And all is/was going well until I hit Singapore, again. There is something oddly numbing about my existance here.

And I think I know what it is: Sin.

Sin, being a lack of will, the dissolution into a messy mass or a massy mess that cannot take form or make force. The sin of, not so much a particular action, but sin as i understand it to be, a state of being. I am here I am now. I pay no regard to authority, I read poetry during Sunday sermons and I swear. A lot. Stopping these things will not slove my issue of Sin, but solving my state of being will stop these issues.

But I am here and here am I, is that a cop out?

To a different tune, The Wellspring, a collection of poems by Sharon Olds is beautiful. I picked up the book finally (8 months overdue) and savoured each character on the rusty yellow pages. A gift from Hannah Greenspan, my housemate of 4 months in 4822 Chancellor Blvd, it trickled back memories of strange days. The days apart are always strange. In Canada or in Singapore, I'm always standing on one side of the mirror, staring quizzically into the depths of my reflection on other continent. I usually am left with a curious feeling in the pit of my stomach that signals confusion and amusment.

Curtis spelt it out best. We grow in each space, and time is disjointed for us.

It's 4.30 am now, dear God and dear Dog, grant me some rest.