10kg Bags of Emo.

There's a difference.

Between prancing about in the light night rain and delighting in the pecks of rain across arms and face. Glancing around in wonder at the crispness everything assumes in this particular sort of weather, and clenching fists against a strange, delicious cold.

...And trudging home from the bus stop at 11pm, having just got off work. Cold, wet, hungry and unanticipative of any food at home. Narrowly avoiding crunching a snail, and absent-mindedly saving it after a second thought. Preoccupied with bittersweet amusement, that tomorrow isn't going to be much better, but perhaps the weather will change.


The whiny Singaporean male striketh!

But no, I'm not really complaining. He works far harder than I do, and has my respect. I have, however, decided upon a better job description.

Coolie.

Fits, you see. I don't do much actual writing at work. It's more of electronic coolie-ing - the moving about of stuff that needs moving; the setting up of things that need setting. Add up all the others things I do and I could write quite earnestly in the Job Description part of a form, "BAO KA LIAO" .

Besides, it fits the image of the singlet and jeans. It took perserverence, strategy and mild manipulation. But yes, no more Phantom Squirrel situations.


Oh, for a bit more time to do stuff with. But let me not wistfully wish beyond my station. I am but a coolie, and no lofty "freelance writer and professional blogger".

Professional envy? Sure - I don't do denial. But by the tits of ten tremulous tyrants, that phrase of hers pisses me off on forty-two different levels. I just took a look at her site - haven't in a while. It was a genuine, involuntary, "Oh. My. Fucking. God." situation.


Ah, the rain. It falls.