Wednesday..

Woke up in the morning 0500, went to take a leak, and there was Ka Yun washing his face. Combat shoot day, I needed a good start. I didn't get one; Spain lost 3-1 to France. Of all teams, FRANCE. WtF..


It's 0053 on a Sat morning now, and Pekerman took Riquelme and Crespo off, replaced them with two lousy subs. Cambiasso and Julio Cruz, omg.. why why why.

I did get my marksman, I got my 200 bucks. But all that means so little now. Spain's out, my other team Argentina look dead and buried. Misunderstanding with Lil' Wong cleared, but shouldn't everything be good and well? My world up's effectively over.

1-1 now. Ah well. You win some, you lose some.

I just ran and ran and ran.. not knowing what the effort was for, no inkling of what I was feeling. My toe felt awkward, my mobility was suspect, I felt breathless after a few weeks void, but I kept going.

Felt like I was chasing after something.

It didn't work out. It really didn't. Every ball bounced of my shin. I was slow in pace, even more so in reaction. Didn't get a single shot on goal, had Derrick and Yao telling me how to play. Yao telling me how to play.. disgraced, utterly humiliated, degraded to the point where I can't raise my head and say "can I have the ball?".

Felt so.. lost. On a familiar battlefield. A labywrith of countless paths, each leading in a separate direction.


Shaun Zhang:"Why didn't you join soccer in NJ?"

What was that all about?

It's just been sleep and more sleep. The dosages of medicine (5 different kinds), plus exhaustion from work.. I'm still having phone calls from office, which is supremely irritating. MC means complete rest, so no work. At least no work that pays 570 for slog.

Was battling against a contest of wills, neither that should have won. I mean, there are certain situations which arise due to selfishness and well, circumstances. Circumstances are long term results of ineffective management, so at the present impossible to overturn.

The problem was always there. No one can say solutions were never sought, cos we did rack our brains. At any rate it was a very minute irritant. But either way I should never have voiced out my opinions. Too often caught in sticky patches where I try and make things better, I really should have just maintained a low profile. I've said many times before: The aftermath of confidences is embarassment. Confessions always end up much more than it was meant to be. Right now, maybe, maybe we could have endured the new changes, I don't know. Right now, it's just clear that workshop is going through transition, and fuss should be kept minimal. At least on the surface.


I dreamt she was dead. It was bizarre. All my feelings for here, those artificial ones, should have dried up long ago. But all the signs in the dream screamed against it. Confusion, once again it seems, has set in.

I'm back home with a 4 days MC. Bronchitis and fever AND toe inflammation. Yes, my toenail finally came out. After plenty of anticipation and many false alarms, what threatened came true.

Drowsy to the point of concussion.

Outlook for next week looks distinctly unappetizing. It largely consist of an engine, part of an engine, and some parts near the engine. Also throw in a roadwheel arm. Definitely not nice, but it sure beats outfield any day.

It's been a more satisfying weekend than those of recent memory. One: finally laid the ghost of "Murder and gang" to rest. Wasn't thrilled to find Sl truely gone from my side, but then, you win some, you lose some. Sometimes you just lose more than expected, but it's okay. Unexpectedly derived some pleasure from a crowd of onlookers, gazes of admiration and respect, translated into a challenge which we were quick to decline; Jo, watch out, Luna's back.

Two: Argentina match showed Riquelme of real class, and more importantly, form. Saviola... another name that has been etched in el footballing list for an internity, finally showing why a 16 year old can pop up in CM. Mascherano, Burdisso, two dudes worthy of the name "unknown", yet showing they are dancers on the world stage. Bring on Brazil.

And lastly, 8 years late, but Final Fantasy VII comes back in town. Real memories, but finally some virtual action.

So I spent 20 hours a day napping, resting at every possible minute, storing every possible ounce of energy, just to watch a German match. I must be losing it. As far as football, to me, is concerned, the ball is mostly round, but not for Germans. German balls are squared.

But honestly I'm quite excited about this World Cup. Despite a frantic 45 minutes of desperate lunges and dour footwork, I bet Argentina will be at least a few levels higher.

It's 2-1 now.

First of June was yesterday, so I'm past the 20 mark. After missing the first few due to inconclusive blots of memories, the year of 2006 promised so much, and yield nothing substantial. Multitudes of stress, maybe. It's so frustrating.. how sometimes things can appear so bright and new, then close-up, it's just glass. Cheap glass at that.

And I'm feeling pangs of guilt now, 'cos I'm not OT-ing in the workshop, because I'm so used to working hard and losing myself, because people who don't care about me are finally putting in the effort to get everything ready... it's so full of hatred and venom, this statement, I can feel my fingers shivering. And I'm thinking of apologising in situations that don't have a reverse scenario. I'm sorry I'm not a fucking regular, I'm an NSF, and I'm not supposed to work so hard. So is everyone down in camp now, but they don't usually, so screw it. It's my birthday.

I don't think I deserve to be shouted at. And pelted with demands I can barely meet. Questions, questions and more questions, queries I can't answer. Pile it on me, do what you will, but there's always only so much I can do.

Two decades, and the new one hits off with a sour note. Them singing a birthday song doesn't even come close.