Gone In Sixty Hours

Sunday 2nd March 2008

Where did the weekend go?

In slightly more than twelve hours, I'll be starting my week again -classes, tests, trainings et al. I swear, last week only ended five minutes ago. It feels like that, at least. But a reality check would reconfirm that it is indeed the end of the weekend, all fifty-plus-plus hours of it have really ticked by and gone. And I kinda feel royally f*cked because I had a whole host of things I wanted to do that aren't even close to being done. And I even missed a little late night baking party, something I am normally able to make time for because it's a late night thing and I'm an owl.

Friday. Saturday. Sunday. Gone. All gone. In five minutes. Ruben Studdard's career lasted longer than that.

:S

Okay, granted that Friday evening, despite being woebegone exhausted from a whole day of practising for our graduation performance (yes..there'll be a little drama, there'll be a little dancing, there'll be a little runway triapsing and there'll be a little bit of Raihan hamming it up on stage!), I managed to drag my ass over to Ikea to check out the (lousy!) sale with Azim.

Among other things for our home we still have yet to find, we're still searching for that elusive worktable for that little empty corner in our living room we've officiated as our workspace. So far, everywhere else selling furniture either offers four-legged contraptions of hideous taste or four-figured price tags of gorgeous tables. Time and again, we come back to Ikea, like an addict in denial. In truth, we don't want our place to look like an Ikea catalogue so we try not to get our main furniture from there but I cannot bring myself to spend one month's HDB installment on a piece of functional furniture from Mod.Living that is only going to end up covered with books, papers, two laptops and the occasional ring from a late night cup of coffee or green tea, depending on who needs to stay up and burn. Oh and cat fur, a guaranteed furniture covering we've learnt to live with in exchange for loud purrs and loyalty in the form of an adoring Phatt Bastard.

So anyway, Friday evening Azim picked me up from school and in all my sticky stinky shabby training garb, hair in disarray and face covered with dust from the floor of the studio my batchmates and I trained in, we zipped off to Ikea, bursting with hopes of finally copping the perfect table from the Scandinavians. If we did, at least my Friday checked off something I really needed to do this weekend.

But we didn't. And so, here I am, furiously typing away this post, sitting on our bed at 5pm. With Azim snoring away beside me, still refuelling from the demands of yesterday. Yes, he has managed to sleep the whole day away today, only occasionally waking up to do what was necessary. Member didn't get a good night's sleep yesterday night for some reason so he's making up for it now and I have to let him do it. Coupled with yesterday afternoon's tiring rendesvous, I wouldn't be surprised if he wakes up tomorrow just in time to send me off to school.

At least he's tired out by something he wanted to do. I'm tired out just from being pissed off by my weekend suddenly taken away from me through no fault of my own.

And Phatt's awake now, he was asleep too when I started this post.  As I type this, he's making his way slowly towards me with a purposeful expression on his furry face, a fat feline on a mission. Azim, his favourite human Osim chair, is fast asleep so clearly, I'm required to step in and oblige with the best cat massage I can muster. 

And my rainy and uneventful Sunday will end, more or less, like this.

I gotta go rub a fat cat into blissful oblivion now.