there was once a girl
who was made up of junk,
she looked really dirty
and she smelled like skunk.

she was always unhappy
or in one of her slumps -
perhaps cos she spent
so much time down in the dumps.

the only bright moment
was from a guy named stan.
he was the neighbourhood
garbage man.

he loved her a lot
and made a marriage proposal,
but she'd already thrown herself
down a garbage disposal.

Junk Girl, Tim Burton, THE MELANCHOLY DEATH OF OYSTER BOY AND OTHER STORIES.

***

upon finishing my last essay for the term today, ser proudly looks at me and said - wah, you finish already? [sha nods head vehemently] - gooood girl. [sha asks - why you say good?] - very good girl. this term you are extra good. [sha defends herself - why, you mean other terms im not good!?!] - only this time (with conviction some more) - other terms you very slack. this term, very very good. (like a proud mommy, she looks at me adoringly through her [already small] eyes)

Yes Mommy. Will Listen Next Time.
This Time - IM G-O-O-D.

***

i think ive become a computer nomad.
just this past week, ive gone to

1) internet cafe (dodgy one, coffin-ed one, at katong)
2) NUS
3) Pacific Coffee, Citylink
4) SMU
5) a friend's place

to utilise today's cannot-do-without technology - in short, the c-o-m-p-u-t-e-r.
long live the nomadic spirit.
(but i hope not. dad, i need a laptop!)