A Fiction of Sorts

**because the year will not be complete without confronting a pesky heartbreak**

Guess what, I've managed to become impossibly restrained. A self-imposed silence where you are concerned. Sometimes, I'll be itching to sound off my usual non-sense, a non-eventful "hello, how are you, did you know that..." But halt there Jenny! I've lost that right along with a bunch of other things I guess I didn't feel entitled to at anytime during our joint existence, wholesome or otherwise. Har har.

When I take a quiet moment to ponder this whilst adapting a whimsical far-off gaze, it pulls a forcefully forgotten string to quiver a sad whiny note.

So I pound on the delete button, shove the phone away, and leave it at that. Nearing another eve of an anniversary of an uninteresting event (my Deftones song of the day, had to use it didn't I? Lol), I still can't feel guiltless when dropping a simple "Oi!"

On the contrary, the reason's not as simple as the obvious conclusion a regular Joe might derive without batting an eyelash. Or maybe, just maybe, because I'm not sure myself...I might not have looked at you any other way as I have thought. So the mere looking subconsciously reminds me of...well, I guess, you. So it follows that there's no "before" that I can go back to as a point of reference. How dramatic. And it stinks of cheese.

And my friends, you know me and cheese.

Chloe and I were burning our eyebrows away late at night a couple of weeks ago while deconstructing the word "hate", and how this little gem of a word could be one's magic bean --- sprouting endless possibilities, catapulting the self into heights of conjured salvation and well-being. At the end of that conversation, we surmised that fabricated hate can only last you for x number of months.

I surprised myself when I declared that I, Jenny, can never genuinely hate you. Chloe stares at me with awe as if I'm nobility and goodness incarnate. I shiver and let out a long "Pffttt." We can't have that now can we?

So...

When you find it, burn it. Think of it as the fact that I may have lied. I'm sorry.

Deconstructing Jenny

Pardon Me If I’m Spilling

Since I was so convinced that I’m really in love with the self, I spent 2 hours reading my old blog entries. And for the past 120 minutes, I’ve been cringing in disgust.

I’m not that in love with myself anymore. In fact, I’m a little bit turned off. Jesus, was I dramatic or what? And whiny. And too theatrical!

Remind me again why I decided to write for a living? Love is blind indeed.

The only thing I enjoyed reading was my attempt at gonzo journalism when I covered Toby and Arbee’s clash with the badminton titans.

Dude, I should seriously find myself another job.

Titles are for Dweebs

I am flying the coop yet again.

Frankly, I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for. But it comforts me that I’d probably know it, once I’ve found it. So I guess I should keep looking.

My mantra has always been “Never settle.” Lately, I keep seeing myself as an overage, used, abused, wrinkly, old prune – this at the tender age of 25. Older friends tell me I have got a long way to go, greener pastures to chomp on. But being Jenny means to shit on said pasture rather than graze to my heart’s content.

And I’m way over the whole “finding meaning” stance, I’ve adapted the Absurdist point of view. One’s efforts to find meaning is absurd because there is no meaning. Embrace the nothingness and you will be free. To quote the all-knowing wiki, “…the absurdist’s refusal to hope becomes his singular ability to live in the present with passion”. So here I am, feeling the “now”, on the floor, scrapbooking all my so-called torments, waiting for the passion to commence. Still have to work on that though. Tralalalalala.

It’s none of your business, and you probably would not understand what I am about to say, but I don’t think I’ll come back anytime soon. A tumor is growing and it is getting heavier still. But don’t worry, it’ll pop by itself or maybe it’ll take a life of its own. That and almost anything else is more interesting than the zombie I stare at when I get up in the morning. Plaster on the awkward grin and hold them at bay. They won’t notice, not really. But until then, I’ll see you. And I’d probably kick your ass. Playfully of course.

Toodles Noodles.

Gnashing at a randomly exposed flesh,

JG

P.S. To cement this post as the most disjointed crap ever written, I would like to add that I'm dying to see this film: Let The Right One In.

Not So Much of a Mystery

I have to say, IT is absolutely alien to me now, well, not after reading all that well written material. Which is something of a surprise, not certain yet if this is a good or a bad thing, since I have been fairly exposed to IT a good number of years. But then again, 2-4 years could be just a mere blink of an eye to some. In this case, IT probably needed a little more than that to start churning up all the moldy bits. I have got to say though, IT is interesting and IT wasn’t the IT I know.

Personal biases aside (I’m wrapping up the process of disentanglement), I’ve never seen this side of IT before, which adds a whole new other dimension (a good thing) to something I’ve grown weary of. And if IT and I were still in speaking terms, my detached curious proclivity would take a stab at a friendly discussion and analysis of ITs previously unknown human drama over a cup of tea, miniature sandwiches, and of course, a couch for IT to lie (and I mean all the connotation the word entails) on.

But I must digress off of my intellectual interest in the matter. IT is different from what IT chose to reveal to me, ergo, IT…is none of my business. Har har!

I hope it ends well though.

To XA from JG

Dear You,
I am coming.
I'll be the sand in your eyes
And I'll kiss you goodnight,
but not without cunning.

Dear You,
I am coming.
Deaf to the chilling cries
of my loneliness and your despise,
but only because I am drowning.

Dear You,
I am coming
with a bag of lies
and a cheap suicide,
but you'll never see me waning.

I will hurry.
I will take you with me.
As you gasp, it will be to thank me.

Dear You,
I came.
But I changed my mind.