You gotta move it, move it.

11 days before my big move.

So far we got a fridge, a washing machine (I kiss the sweet brain of the man who invented this contraption), a 29' TV, a 1.5 York aircond, a stove, a table, a chair, and whoa I am dizzy from being so broke. Good thing Maggi Mee comes in so many flavours.

I checked my stress levels on an internet questionnaire and watched the needle skyrocket spectacularly. Besides getting a pay cut, a bad job and now moving home, I doubt there is a bigger sucker for punishment in this time zone. Apparently moving ranks as the third most stressful event in one's life after losing a loved one and losing one's job.

My current room looks like a bunch of monkeys just went through it with chainsaws.
I look forward to moving and finally getting some peace and getting on with my life and playing maid during weekends.

Can't wait!

I am now reading about a writer. If she was any less endearing, I would be seething with envy.

I would give the world to be able to earn a living writing. Not hard nosed journalism mind you. I turn to custard when I encounter the Jeremy Paxman types. No that won't do at all.

But I just know I would warm up beatifully to comfortable fiction and familiar Sunday features. Anything that usually goes well with furry loafers, a pot of tea and the odd Oreo. Say a reviewer of children books or happy ending novels or cook books. Heck I would even go the length and even do travel commentary. No, on second thoughts, being assigned to travel the less beaten track may not be so hot. I am a globetrekker limited to civilizations with heating and modern plumbing.

I will finally admit that I am indeed a Martha Steward devotee and I secretly prefer learning 10 ways of refurbishing my wardrobe than 20 ways to have sex in it. (Refering to Cosmopolitan here, they have ran out of how many ways one can do it standing up and upside down, they have broken new grounds by naughty sugestions on where to do it and how to do what where. It is indeed an excercise of mental dexterity of the writer to challenge the physical aptitude of the reader. Well those who dare try anyway)

But I digress.

Celebrating the 28th anniversary of my first birthday, I have indeed suprised myself with the way I have turned out. When I was 17 I thought then that by this time I would be wielding power and great fortune would be my forte. And that I would behave irresponsibly, decadent in the trappings of youth and glory.

To my disapointment I have turned out to be quite a law abiding citizen whose claim to a wild time is scaring my mum by buying a fridge, washing machine and TV at one go. Yeah, Happening Me. The wild child in me has mellowed to point that I am as ferocious as a marshmallow.

But you know, its ok. I kinda like it.

I am moving!

Out I tumble from the tiny snail shell of room in hot and happening Bangsar to a hacienda in Kelana Jaya.

Ok, maybe not the rustic mansion with fiery bougainvillea overflowing the balconies and a stable boy called Paulo. That is still in my head.

Actually it is just a sweet apartment at the penthouse level with a view of a highway (though if you look out the window and cock your head 15 degrees due north-west, you may catch a glimpse of the swimming pool.)

I am signing the tenancy today! I would be looking for a housemate. Not easy business this looking for a new housemate thing. If I though my pervious landlord was tough, now that I am in her position too, I can understand her paranoia.

What if the new person is a cheat/liar/homicidal axe murderer? What will I do if I catch her/him eating MY last cookie? If it's a woman, what if she hits on my boyfriend? If its a guy, what if he hits on Me? What if he/she brings their partners home and have sex too loudly that they distress the people downstairs?

Shucks, when it comes to interviewing my future housemate, I think it would qualify as an inquisition.

I think I need to relax more.

Then there is all that furniture to buy. I think I should start buing the lottery.

Pass round the crocodile clips

April 11. The eleventh day of the fourth month of 2006.

Hence still SIX very long months to the end of my chambering. But like death and (seeing that it is the season)taxes, I have resigned myself to it. It is starting to become itsy-bitsy tolerable. But still I am like a deer in the headlights. Hear me bleat!

Well my master sat me down and gave me a rousing pep talk about the importance of staying in there and how things do always appear hard at the begining and things can only look up.
Then I found out that she is leaving practice.
HEY! Talk about convincing.

But don't tell anyone. Sometimes I find myself actually enjoying my work and then I quickly slap myself silly and tell myself to behave myself.

Good God. I am turning into a masochist.