Occasionally, I find that sleeping and waking early can be rather cool. If you know me enough, or by chance I’ve mentioned it sometime someplace, you should know that I’m one of those who preferred staying up past midnight and more yonder. Not that I’m one of the nocturnal type (like Amanda, and most of you out there); by golly, I handle sleep deprivation horrendously (short a few hours and I trudge around like a zombiefied penguin with a migraine). But the time after the stroke of 12 and into the depths of night opens up to additional and potentially great enjoyments (most call this’ nightlife’), and I daresay you know it, perhaps more than I do, so you should understand my reasons perfectly.

But anyhow, I slept a great deal earlier than usual; 11 p.m. or less, due to reducing my sleeping hours so that I get to wake and study for my advertising paper, and found myself freshly awake at 8.30 in the morning. I laid idle for a while, saw my brother out of the house, went out to buy breakfast and ate watching Austin Powers (International Man of Mystery)… and say, it’s only 11 in the morning! So I powered up the Ps2 for a few games of PES6 and Disgaea: Cursed Memories, hid in bro’s room to watch anime on Youtube and ate left-over porridge while reading The Order of the Phoenix (4^th read-through). And it was only 3 p.m. after I decided I’ve had enough of Potter for the afternoon.

Normally (on uneventful days like this) I’d wake up at noon, do something a bit and eat, and after that it’s already 4 in the evening and dad’s home with chores and un-necessities dumped at me with as little mercy as possible. And dad being home means no PS2, no hiding-in-room-doing-God-knows-what (because inevitably I would be summoned out, either to do stuff or just so to check that I’ve not died rotting in the room) and no freedom on the TV, so the little time I get to do something fun in a day is as short as recess in high school.

Today, I’ve learned that whenever a friend returns a book I lent out, I should do well by opening it when I reach home. You’ll never know what souvenirs that friend might slip into the pages of that book, be it a tear in a page, a smudge of dahl at page 54, multiple dog-ears and a hollowed-out section made to hide in a packet of weed. In my case, however, it was a Thank You note for lending the Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time. So instead of reading that note and say “hey, there’s no need for a thank you note, really. A cup of bubble milk tea, or a movie at KLCC or a gargantuan combo set at McD’s would do fine”, I must’ve looked like an arrogant git who didn’t care less whether or not a friend had sincerely left a note in his novel to thank him for providing a good read. Good going.

Sorry mon ami Amanda, for taking so darn long to reply that thank you note of yours. And really, there’s no need for a note. Bubble tea will do fine xD

Goodnight to you ;)

And goodnight people.