let lemons be angry

Countdown: one more day before The Christmas Party. Everything's settled. Menu, wardrobe, flowers, decorations, carollers, surprising dessert, cards, presents. Ahh. If anyone wants to Help the Host, you can get together and contribute either
- white fudge oreos
- sparkling grape/apple juice
- christmas pudding,
depending on which of these items you want most to eat on Christmas eve. There's glamorous democracy for you. Come at 6:30ish. not too near the seventh hour, because we want to be moving on to a slow dessert when the carollers come eventually after 7 (many of them, too much going on otherwise) and it needs to be dark enough for the candles to sparkle. I'd send invitations out, but it's a tad late for that touch. I'm happy. Like that day just doing nothing at jurong east with paki, soaking in unaffected happiness. Dress up, do dress up.

I think i handle stress the way my father does. After years of trying to deny any personality resemblance to him, i've come to recognise this. My mum fixates on perfecting the details of efficiency, and can't cope with loose threads that aren't sewn in or snipped off at the exact moment that she wants them off. My dad and i, on the other hand, play with the loose threads a bit. We sit down, we think about the threads, we befriend them, we make do with a little imperfection. We might cut them off eventually. Just not immediately, not if it'll compromise our state of peace. And if we make mistakes along the way, we just forgive ourselves and move on. We don't fuss, because nothing is ever of that great a consequence. Spontanaeity is a must, precision is minimal. If anyone tries to pressure us into moving at their rate, or into doing things their efficient way, we turn floppy and would rather take a nap. That's family resemblance. Perhaps because i've been raised by a happily efficient and efficiently helpful mum, i've adopted some responsible tendencies. With both things going for me, methinks i shall survive in this world.

song-in-my-head: Are You Gonna Be My Girl--jet
Jet--rock and roll, greased up and dirrty