And the message for today (from the cosmic heavens with squeaky overtones):

STOP EMOING.

Fine.

OK.

No more emoing on the blog.

It’s Earnestly Speaking, not EMO-ly Speaking.

This message was brought to you by the ANTI EXCESSIVE EMONESS ANONYMOUS.
(BTW, it has only one member).

Even my boyfriend won’t talk to me after 3am. Says I get too emo and don’t talk sense.

So yes, no more emoing.

Or I have to buy two people coffee.

Today I feel like sharing what my name truly means:

E is for Emo
R is for Rants and Rages, on occasion stark Raving mad
N is for Noxious
A is for Angst

It’s Monday. I just feel like making fun of myself.

So different, they are.

I often joked that if they were one man, not two, he would be perfect.

But there is no perfect man, my friends say. Oh, yes, but together, they were perfect. To me.

Explain to me, then, why it is that each is what the other isn’t. Why their birthdates are each other’s, reversed.

One is dark, one is fair.

One doesn’t have very good English yet speaks charmingly. The other’s English is good but he speaks as though behind a baklava.

One spent his teen years and early 20s working to provide for his siblings, thanks to an absent father and an indolent stepfather. The other’s known a simple, nuclear family upbringing.

One is working so damn hard to keep himself in university, almost giving up that he’d ever get there. The other squeaked through because he found he really shouldn’t have taken the course in the first place.

One is far away from me, yet stays close to my heart. The other is so near, but he might as well be on another continent.

And if they were ever to meet, I think the only thing they would have in common is me.

I love the first one like I love air. When I met him, my knees buckled and I stopped breathing. Like some sappy scene from a torrid romance novel. And even through tears and trials, we always come back to each other. Like magnets of different polarities; it’s futile to resist the pull that’s kept us together. Even the other once wryly observed, after our umpteenth falling-out, that there was no cause to worry because the man I loved would come back. He always did.

And the other, oh, I love him like blood. Like flesh, like my right arm. He’s like a ghost limb – though amputated, I still feel it there.

So maybe it’s fitting that as things cement with one, it crumbles with the other.

Balance? Fate?

I don’t know anymore. I only know what I feel right now. As I find myself still getting to know one, I wonder if I ever really knew the other.

What use the wondering? Why can’t I move on and leave the past where it is – memories, tears and anniversaries, books and plays and lies and anguish and bitter recrimination?

Because there’s such a fine line between sayang and cinta – that’s why it hurts to lose either. And having one doesn’t necessarily make up for losing the other.

I have a little fetish.

OK, maybe a big Angelina Jolie-sized fetish. I am obsessed with productivity tools.

The irony is that my productivity can be severely obstructed when I’m distracted by said tools.

For instance, I’m capable of spending far too much time on Lifehacker.org, when I could be posting to Blorge or Roving Geek, for that matter. Or working on a novel, machinima script, song lyrics or playing my dusty guitar (whose expensive strings are probably out of tune by now).

So I bought a low-tech Moleskine 18-month pocket planner.

Pros:
1. It doesn’t need batteries or power
2. It’s small enough to carry anywhere
3. It has a calendar all the way to the end of 2009
4. It has a nice little sleeve at the back for me to keep the odd receipt
5. It won’t exactly cost a bomb to replace if subjected to sun, water, wear and tear

Cons:
1. It has no backup options – if I lose it, there goes my data
2. It’s not exactly cheap at RM47

Still, I love my new Moleskine. The trouble is stopping myself from buying more and though Grandluxe makes nice, similar notebooks at half the price, it’s not quite the same.

There are so many things I want to do and should get around to doing (guitar & vocal practise, language lessons, creative writing) but I end up being swamped by other things.

I guess it’s that time again for me to sit down and try resorting my priorities. Spending far too much energy thinking about what I want to do instead of doing them just doesn’t make sense anymore.

It’s funny how the past only makes sense after the fact.

After all these years, being obsessed with the Internet has paid off. Soon, I’m going to be immersed in the Web, and it’s exciting.

That doesn’t mean I’m not terrified.

Change is something that creeps up on you, planting itself right where you don’t expect it. And there’s so much to do, so little time as goes the cliche. Everything’s coming to a head at the very same time and it’s like being at the top of a rollercoaster hump, before the quick descent.

It’s madness. It’s exhilarating.

That’s what I feel right now.  So much of a big change in routine, so I’ll no longer be singing this Nine Inch Nails song: