Sunday, 29 May 2011

Depression/Therapy Blog Post #5: Can I Just Kill Myself Already Please?

1:50pm, 29th May. Fucking pissed off. Had lunch with parents again, which was as fucking joyous as ever. Passive and active aggression. It was just as bad last night: I asked the old man if he could please return my RM800 that he'd borrowed, and he said he couldn't because of his fucking money problems. It's always money problems. Apparently he's spent, like, a hundred and ten grand on NOTHING. He's got fucking debt up to his fucking eyeballs and he's too fucking arrogant to seek help about it, or to even FUCKING TALK TO HIS FUCKING FAMILY ABOUT WHY HE'S IN SUCH FUCKING DEEP SHIT. Which pisses the old woman off, and then she comes and bitches to me about how miserable she is and how frustrating it is living with an old man like him. So because of last night, they got into silent-treatment mode all over again. FUCK.

So today after being mostly silent at lunchtime, they come home and get into another argument just because the neighbour parked his car too close to our driveway. At which point the stupid old man stormed upstairs, leaving the old woman bitching to me as always, using me as an outlet to vent the ridiculously petty problems that neither one of them wants to talk about and try to resolve. At which point I lost my cool and told her to fucking talk this out and try to resolve it: "You have 20 more years of living together, and this is how you want things to be?" And then I snapped and told her that I'm on fucking medication and going to fucking therapy because of all this negativity in my life, and I just don't need it. I just don't fucking need it. "You're so goddamn concerned about your other son's physical health, but you don't give a shit about my mental health!" Yup, I said it. Not quite as crassly, but the anger was there.

The thing about being in a negative state around my folks is that I inevitably start feeling depressed and that leads, fucking hell, to thoughts of the American and how pathetically I've failed as a friend and as an artist. Then I start thinking about how lonely I am, with no friends, and I just want to fucking bash my head against a brick wall. Let's see who my friends are: Terry. Debra. If I'm generous, Phaik Leng. There's Judi and Berni and Jo and gang, but they're far away. So that's it. That's it, isn't it?? Where the hell is my social circle? Why do I not have one? Is it because I can't stand being in a group with people seemingly content with their lives, successful and happy?? Is it because my current state means meeting new people is hard because I've got to put up a brave front, as I did when I did that gig with Rozz a few weeks ago? Is it because I'm too stupid to engage people in meaningful conversation? Fuck this shit.

So now I'm in my room, angry, and the stupid old man's in his room, and the old woman is downstairs, and I'm wishing my life was something different, somewhere else. Or just fucking over. I'm sick and tired of all this bullshit. At 31, I hate my life. At 31, I'm single, alone, and tied to my fucking parents' fucking apron strings. There are people younger than I am, happily married, with kids, and here I am. There are people who are out partying every other night and having a great time, and me? I've got two fucking friends. Two. I spent Friday and Saturday night in my fucking bedroom with my dog. What the hell's the matter with me? What the hell has gone wrong with my fucking life?

Friday, 27 May 2011

Depression/Therapy Blog Post #4

2:30pm, Friday. Mood: Not too bad. Probably because I've just given Chloe a bath, which is as fun as it is tedious. Earlier today Ashley seemed to be in a pretty low mood, loss of appetite and such... but she seems better now. Jodie, of course, is Jodie: cheerful, protective, mature. Apart from falling into a shallow gutter yesterday during our walk (it was dark, and her eyesight isn't the best) she's no worse for wear, arf arf.

On Monday I did a bad thing: I lied to my therapist because I didn't feel like talking. What I should have done, of course, was to tell her the absolute truth: that I simply was too tired, mentally and emotionally, to talk about my problems that day. Instead I made up some story about my folks' car breaking down, blah blah blah. Naturally I'll be telling her about my faux pas. I think it's important, of all people, that she should know the truth about what's going on and what kind of mood I'm in on a particular day. So yea, that won't happen again.

Earlier today I was feeling a bit down, too. Apart from parents being parents again (interesting how consistently I begin to get down when I'm spending time with them), I began to wonder (again) if the American had left the country. And then I began to wonder, what if he's gone... and then he comes back, without me knowing? Not that it really matters whether or not he does come back and whether or not I know about it, but... I dunno. Something about that idea made me feel glum. I began to wonder what kind of projects I could put on at the end of the year or early next year so that if he does come back, I'd have something to impress him with. And then I began to think how silly that was, how irrelevant, how unimportant. I mean, why should I care what he thinks? And yet I do. I keep thinking back to that day last September when I met him for the first time after S+S Musical. How much easier it was, how unknowing I was that all this would transpire. If I'd known this was going to happen, would i have made sure we never went past that initial meeting stage? I dunno. Sigh. Live and learn. Keep moving on, Nick.

Anyway, fortunately I came home and Mum said something about giving Chloe a bath, and now I'm feeling marginally better, having been able to distract myself. Mum tried to groom Chloe's fur, but Chloe, being Chloe, didn't wanna stand still. Right now I'm semi-soaked, covered with dog fur, and should probably take a bath myself. Till later... bye.

Sunday, 22 May 2011

Depression/Therapy Blog Post #3

Mood circa 12:30pm: Having lunch with the folks, and feeling downright miserable. I think being in my parents' presence is detrimental to my mental-emotional health, because of how passive aggressive they are, non-communicative and downright pissed off at each other without either one wanting to say anything. All in all it creates a really negative atmosphere to be in, one which I don't believe is very helpful to my well-being at this time. So what's the alternative? Ignore them? Don't spend time with them? Or start talking to them about why this kind of negativity is not what any of us needs? Sigh.

My mind was filled with regret this morning. Regret at having turned down all the music-related stuff I have this year: not following through on the FTL cast recording; turning down Broadway Academy's choir musical direction; turning down songwriting for a fundraising CD recording; turning down music for children's theatre. And then I began to loathe myself and call myself useless all over again. And then, I thought about it further and realised that the reason I had to turn all of these things down was because of the timing of it all, the proximity to when this entire depressive state kicked into full-gear. And a major factor of it, of course, is the American. I need to purge him from my mental and emotional banks. But how can I do that when anything related to performing arts, and music, and especially FTL, triggers off thoughts of him?

So yes, with that in mind, it makes sense that I had to turn these offers down. I need, as a priority, to figure out why the American has affected me so much, what root issues he somehow impacted on that made me end up in this state of less-than-positivity. And if dealing with these root issues also means trying to move forward away from thoughts and feelings for the American, then I also have to move away from things that would remind me of him. Unfortunately, these things are all the things that I was once so passionate about, that I once loved: all the music and theatre stuff. Sigh.

I'm still trying to deal with the fact that I don't have closure with regards to the American. I wish he'd email or call or something to let me know if/when he's leaving, if he hasn't already left. I wish I had the courage to be the person to pick up the phone and call, or just to leave him a message. But I can't help to wonder, what if he's happier without me in his life? What if, by contacting him, he goes, "Ah shit, the nutcase is back, just when I thought he was gone for good"?? Which leads me to this train of thought: Why do I assume this to be the case? Why can't I believe, as some of my friends have proposed, that he was sincere in believing in our friendship, that he really did want what was best for me by proposing this "friendship break"? (And just in case you missed it the first time around, I now believe we're not on a friendship break. A friendship break implies a friendship existed to begin with, which it clearly didn't, not from my majorly infatuated point of view, at least.)

See, even as I type this, I'm beginning to feel sad again. Which makes me resent the situation, and by association, resent him. When I really don't resent him, of course; rather the opposite, but the opposite is detrimental. The memories I have of him, however few, are mostly positive. The real problem is how much importance I've come to place on these memories - how much meaning I've infused into them, romanticised, for a lack of a better word. Which makes me sad. Which makes me hurt. Let's put it another way: I don't think about the memories I have with the other people in the FTL band. Not because I don't care about them, not because they don't mean anything to me, not because I don't value the time we shared, their talents, their friendships. But because of exactly that: we're friends. And in friendships, we don't romanticise. We don't place unnecessary "weight" on the meaning of the times we've shared. It'll always remain. And when a friend goes away, overseas for example, the friendship doesn't end, and both of us automatically knows that. So what does this mean in the case of the American, that none of these friendship-rationalisations seem to apply? Naturally, I'm now at the point where I'm deciding that I'm better off not thinking about all this. Just move on. But is moving on a form of not dealing with it? Do I have to keep thinking about all this in order to deal with it? Jeesuz, can I please have a break from thinking? From feeling? From dealing?

Let's get back to the music stuff. So now what? I'm still doing some musical work - a gig here and there, a couple of weekend classes, developing my next musical project - but maybe what I need now, ironically, is to focus further on me, and not less: i.e. drop everything else music-related, focus on my project, try to heal. Because the project I'm working on is cathartic to me. It helps me channel the angst, the anger, the hurt, the confusion. Everything else does not.

I've previously suggested that delving into my own projects might be a way of me to avoid dealing with the issues I need to confront. But surely this time it's different, not when there's therapy involved, when there's a conscious realisation that I'm trying to work things out, and that working on my project is a way for me to remain attached to my world of music and theatre without getting so negatively affected by the memories and associations it conjures. So maybe that's one step. Or maybe it'll just lead me round in circles again. I just don't know.

The bottom line is, I've got to stop blaming myself for turning down the abovementioned offers. Yes, I let people down by saying I'd take these projects on, and then bailing. But at the end of the day, the timing wasn't right, and I think I have to believe that I made the right choice here. Otherwise I'll perpetually be in a state of regret and resentment, and that's not helpful. I've got to stop telling myself that I turned these jobs down because I didn't feel good enough. It isn't that I'm not good enough, that I'm not talented, that I'm incapable. Instead, I have to recognise that these things were triggering off associations with the American, which in turn were triggering off negativities associated with the issues that he somehow impinged upon. I need to keep telling myself this: The timing, sadly, wasn't right. A year ago, two years ago, if these offers had come my way, I would've leapt at the chance, jumped for joy. This year, it's all glass half empty. And so hopefully I've made the right choice declining these opportunities for the sake of improved well-being. Before I can even start considering taking on these kinds of tasks, I need, first and foremost, to find a way to make the glass half full.

Saturday, 21 May 2011

Flashback to The Last Day, 21st May 2006

Lunch at Chris & Jade's Lunch from a different point of view Josie & Burger Face The Gang At the airport The Gang @ the Airport Still at the airport Goodbye!!

Prayer Before The Rapture

Dear God,

I would like to know, what was the point of my creation? Why did you let me grow up in a so-called "religious" family? What was the point of inspiring me to write so many church songs, close to 100 or more of them, only to have none of them used in any real significant way? Why make me talented, if in so many years, this talent is not being put to use? Why is it whenever I try to ignore you, reject you, something in me doesn't quite believe it, and I keep coming back to you? What makes my soul yearn for you so desperately, to the point of tears, while my mind gets constantly filled with anger and frustration at the idea that I'm chasing after you but you don't seem to be interested in my devotion? Why make me gay, when so many other gay men out there are comfortable with themselves, and happy, and yet here I am, alone and uncomfortable and sad? Why make me this unattractive and unlovable in the eyes of other men, when all I really want is to be loved, and to love, and to be acknowledged, and appreciated, and accepted for who and what I am? Why make me cross paths with people like the American, and make me believe it was for a bigger purpose, when all it has brought is pain and heartache? Why send me overseas at a young age, make me believe my future was to be elsewhere, only to send me back here and leave me stuck, five years later, without having a sense of progress, of achievement, of forward motion? Why allow others to move so far ahead of me while I watch, choking on their dust, watching their taillights fade into the distance, as I remain stuck in one spot, going round and round and round with no sense of breaking free from perpetuance? Is it because they believe in you more? Is it because they love you more? Is it because you believe in them more? Is it because you love them more? Or is it because they don't believe in you, and my belief is actually hindering my progress? Why are my parents always passive-aggressively bickering? Why is my family so goddamn dysfunctional and aggravating? Why put music in my life, and make it my passion, only to have it taken away from me through unrequited love and a broken heart? Why make me write stuff like Follow The Light only to have it become such a painful reminder of the dreams I had for it and the potentials it represented? Why make me believe I was made to be an instrument of your glory when I'm clearly not, when all I want to do day after day is pretend you don't exist and indulge in sin to spite you because really, nothing matters in my life right now? Why make me believe, full stop - in you, in other people, in love? On the flipside, why can't I believe in myself?

Dear God, if it's true that you're coming back and this is our last day on Earth, even if I don't get to go to heaven because I've not been good or worthy enough, could we please have a sit-down, face-to-face, heart-to-heart chat before you send me to wherever it is you send souls that are not good or worthy enough? Could you please grant me this? Because all I want to know, more than anything else, is what the entire point of me is.

Friday, 20 May 2011

Half A Decade Later, And We Descend Into Lunacy

We're closing in on 21st May, which is a special day, and not just because it's potentially the end of the world. Nay, it's also because it'll mark exactly five years since I left Perth for this stupid land called Malaysia. Five years, folks. Five years, and what have I become? I don't think I shall allow myself to answer that question. But in anticipation of that big day – and just in case Jesus returns and there's no more opportunity to blog after tomorrow – here are some flashbacks to the past: the final days in Perth, five years ago.

from Thumbnails of the final days, posted 23 May 2006:

The Farewell Party - May 19:

Carol & Judi The Gang Judi & Nick Funnyface Nick, Craig & Sharon Um. Ross. Nick, Ross & the Tower Nick & Adam Josie cracks up Carol: Grr! Arrgh! Nick & Anthony Josie & Brett crack up Nick, Phil & Geri Lovely Ladies Nick & the Music Guys

Mark's Housewarming Party - May 20:

Carol & Mark Erk. Scary. More lovely ladies Mark & Mitts Carol, Brett & Chris Jade & Kitten Josie & Brett...cheers! Jerolina & Steve Circle of love and dysfunction Erk. Scary (Again) Judi & Nick Funnyface II

Check back in soon (God willing) for selections from the final day, May 21st. Till then.

Depression/Therapy Blog Post #2

9pm, May20th. Was surfing the net and couldn't help but to check out the American's Facebook page again, against my better judgment. I can hear Judi yelling at me now as she reads this. Saw that he is a mutual friend of a guy who's also a composer-musician. The difference is, this guy is a successful composer-musician, and he's only been back in Malaysia for, like six months or something. And already he's been commissioned to write multi-million ringgit musicals. While I, the loser, have been stuck here for five years without getting anywhere. And this artiste is a devout Christian, much like the American, and he has studied in NY. So my gut reaction was... well, that punched-in-the-gut feeling. Resentment. Envy. Sadness. Something akin to loss, devastation, jealously, hatred, anger. What immediately went through my mind was this (and I'm blogging this because this is what the therapy log requires of me; it's called a 'dysfunctional thought record'): "No! No, no, no, no no! What if American forges/has forged a close friendship with successful composer? What if American gets involved in this guy's shows? What if American's opinions of me change now that he has met this successful composer? Then again, is American even staying or leaving? Is he even here still?" The American once said I was 'blessed' and that this country's lucky to have me (sic)... now that he has met successful composer, is this sentiment still true?

Then, because I'm supposed to reevaluate these spontaneous thoughts and emotions, my follow-up thoughts were these: "So what if American does these things? He has a right to be friends with anyone he pleases. Does it matter? What can I do about it, really?"

The final step of this exercise is to note down the outcome of having recorded these thoughts. Truthfully? I'm not sure what the outcome is. I'm still sitting here in front of the computer, fretting, feeling lost. And while I'm sure there are more effective and conducive things I could do to rectify the situation (which I'm going to discover during the course of therapy, I suspect), I'm going to walk away from this computer and force myself not to think about it. But before I do, here's why I was checking out American's FB page: I wanted to see if there was a way for me to get in touch with him, to have one final meet-up and chat for closure. But I wanted to call him rather than leave a FB message or email. So I was looking for his phone number, since I'd deleted it from my phone. Long and the short of it is, I decided to block him all over again. From FB. From email online chat, as I'd re-added him. I don't know what the point of this all is. Seeing him, not seeing him... does it make a difference? I don't know. Jeesuz. What a mess.

Wednesday, 18 May 2011

Depression/Therapy Blog Post #1 (Because The Therapist Wants A Log)

May 17 and 18: Been thinking about the American a lot lately. Partially due to talking to therapist about him last Monday. But also with the realization that he leaves (I think) for home (permanently?) this month. Or sometime after this month. I don't know when he plans to leave, or if he's still leaving at all to begin with. What if he stays? What if he goes and doesn't say goodbye? If he stays, it means he would be within contacting proximity, and I'd rather not have that because it's always easier knowing the person is far, far, far away. It's easier if he goes. And yet how would I know if he stays or goes unless I ask him or ask people who know him? Neither of those options are palatable; if anything, probing into it would be counterproductive to whatever progress I've made moving forward. And yet, the thought of him leaving without making an attempt to contact me makes me sad. The thought of him contacting me makes me nervous as it would, again, negate my getting over it. And I'm certainly not ready to be the one to pick up the phone to call him, or to send him an email or whatever. So I'm in a real catch-22 here, unfortunately. I'm stuck. So I'm trying not to think about it, but I can't help but to think about it: the friendship that never materalized, the wasted potential, the early days when it was all so easy and enjoyable. Yet I realize how futile this all is: if we really were friends (which we're not, due to my neuroses), it wouldn't matter if he leaves or stays, or says goodbye or not, because friendship would remain regardless.

May 18, 12:30pm. Read a review of locally produced production Cabaret, and felt a surge of... something. Envy? Resentment? Sadness? Wistfulness? Why? I'm not entirely sure. The people involved are my friends, and I'm proud of them. Or at least, I should be. Even the friend with whom I had a major falling out, who claimed her pregnancy was stopping her from singing and yet was part of the show. Apparently she's a big fat liar, but that's my anger talking. Oh whatever. Maybe successfully staged productions make me believe that I'm incapable of successfully staging stuff. Which isn't true, surely?? Sigh.

I'm supposed to go away, breathe, allow myself some time to reflect, and come back to this blog post to see how I feel about what I felt at the time of writing. So let's see how I feel when I revisit this. Check back in again soon.

19th May, 1:33am. Okay, Facebook officially pisses me off. I was looking for a particular old message in the message archive when I came across a message I'd sent to the American. So I clicked on it, thinking it would lead me to what I'd sent so I could check it out and delete it. Stupid mistake. It led me to his Facebook profile, complete with latest pics and stuff. And I swear, you know you've got it bad for someone when one glimpse of the person makes you feel like you've been sucker-punched in the gut. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Now I feel a mix of nausea and immense sadness, like I just wanna cry. Why oh why oh why. We were supposed to be friends. Dammit. Dammit. I think I need to go to bed. :'(

Edited to add: Okay, feeling better now. Such is life. Just have to keep moving forward.

Monday, 16 May 2011

Lest I Forget...

In the event that I start to believe I've been less than prolific:

January - Bali trip, recuperating after FTL.
February - Children's Theatre KL version.
March - Dealing with depression; started new job; conceived Blame.
April - Further development of Blame; commenced therapy; began packing up; weekend of Short + Sweet Musical Theatre Workshops.
May - Further development of Blame; moved back home; No Black Tie gig with Rozz; one-off children's singing workshop this weekend.
June?
July?
August?
Time will tell. And really, should it matter so much?

Thursday, 12 May 2011

Popped My Cherry

Hey everyone. It's been an interesting past few days. First off, over the weekend and on Monday I got together with some professional musicians and started rehearsing for my maiden performance at No Black Tie (NBT), this live-music lounge/restaurant/bar in Kuala Lumpur that's a favourite among artistes here. It wasn't "my" performance per se; I'd been roped in by my generous and very talented friend Llew to play the piano for an awesome singer named Rozz. See, Llew produces shows and concerts and the like, and I guess he figured it was time for me to lose my NBT virginity, arf. (And also because his usual pianist wasn't available, but let's not miss the forest for the trees, shall we? Heh.) So yea. That was pretty exciting stuff, meeting with new musicians and finally doing a live gig, which I've not done in this capacity since... well... ever.

The more exciting aspect about this show was that I've known about Rozz for a very long time, us having interviewed her for The Nut Graph sometime back. And here's the other great thing about Rozz: that she's a drag queen. Yup, you read right: she is really a he. But make no mistake, she is fabulous. And her voice is quite awesome, as the clips below will demonstrate! It was quite the privilege working for her (and Llew, whom I've been wanting to work with in this capacity for a while now; Llew was also the one who conducted the Short & Sweet Musical workshops I blogged about somewhere below), as well as to regain some of my musical footing and confidence (the guys I played with reckoned I should do more live gigs, and several people have said good things about my performance, which is very flattering and reassuring).

Most importantly, I think, in my process of healing, getting back into music is a positive thing, as dear Judi says, to create new memories that will take the place of older, more difficult ones. Music and theatre and all are still a bit of a raw nerve, but I think part of my mistake has been in trying to run away from these by turning down jobs and by avoiding going to shows and concerts; rather, I should immerse myself in it, reclaim what was once such a joy to me. It's going to take a while, and it's not going to be easy; heck, even last night while preparing to perform I was dogged by thoughts and feelings that threatened to drag me down (especially when Rozz's repertoire included songs about heartbreak and unrequited love, oy vey!), but I told myself to focus and just keep playing, just keep playing. Heh.

Anyway, I'm gonna leave you now with some photos from the gig last night as well as some clips of us in performance. Hope you enjoy. Till later... :)

Warming up

Rozz entertains the crowd


Nice to be in my element!

Rozz performs Somewhere from West Side Story (segment)

Rozz performs A Woman In Love

Special guest artiste, the crazy-talented Elvira Arul, performs All Is Fair In Love

My favourite song of the night: Rozz and Elvira perform Get Happy /
Happy Days Are Here Again

Tuesday, 3 May 2011

What Chew Want?!

To make up for the lack of coverage on my doggies lately, especially little Ashley, who has grown significantly since we first adopted her, here are a couple of pics and a video. (See here for more pics of Ashley in her slightly younger days!) The pics are just of Ashley because she was the easiest to photograph, given her colour, arf. Chloe tended to disappear into the dim corner of the room. And Jodie was... well... downstairs. Outside. Awww. Heh.



Doggies making a mess

Monday, 2 May 2011

Home Sweat Home

Hey all! Whew, it's been an exhausting weekend indeed. As previously mentioned, this was the weekend where I finally moved out of the apartment I'd been living in for the past two years, and moved back in with the parents. Oy vey, are they a tedious couple, my folks. Yup, don't get me started. It's been rather aggravating, but I'm going to take it all in stride with the constant self-reminder that I should count myself lucky to be able to move back home, and save money, and have my doggies around, and (best of all) get the master bedroom (formerly my parents') to myself since I need the larger space.

Yeah, blessings indeed, and I shall count 'em. Even though my folks' constant bickering and passive aggression threaten to drive me round the bend. I swear, at some point I'm liable to snap and use my therapy as a weapon: "This is why I need psychological help!" No, the folks don't know I'm spending close a thousand bucks per month on therapy and Prozac. If they knew, I bet it'd give their squabbles – predominantly money related – added perspective. But anyway, that's for another time...

So the past few days have been full on with moving and tying up loose ends, including clearing up the apartment and making sure it was presentable for the landlord when he came over to return me my security and amenity deposits. I was all prepared to loathe the guy, but he didn't turn out to be as bad as my initial impressions had painted him to be. So that was all settled rather amicably, even though I maintain it was ridiculous that he would charge me an increased rental price for the past couple of months, given that the increased price was based on the assumption that I would be renewing my tenancy agreement for another year at least. Since he was the one who wanted the apartment back and therefore nullified any potential new agreement that had yet to be signed, he really was ripping me off by nevertheless insisting I pay the increased rental rate and not the old price or a per-monthly-basis new amount. Grrr. Arrgh.

So I made that rather clear to him, I think, even though in the end I threw in the towel, not wanting to fight over a low three-figure amount. And I think he should count himself lucky: I was a damn good tenant, if I say so myself. I paid all rent and bills on time; I got a couple of cleaners to come in and do a bang-up job right before he came over on Saturday (the apartment ended up looking much better than when I first moved in!); and I took the trouble to touch up the little blemishes on the walls with paint. Count yerself lucky, foooo!! Anyway, all the monies have been returned accordingly, and all my stuff is out of there, and yesterday (Saturday) was the official last time I would have seen that apartment. Sigh. Good times.

Here's where I should mention that it's been quite a challenge indeed bringing most of my stuff back home. Because when you consider the number of things that accumulate over the course of two years, and when you consider that my apartment was entirely unfurnished to begin with... well, let's just say it really is a case of bringing an entire houseload of crap back to this house. But don't just take my word for it: let these photos speak for themselves. And if you're still not convinced, there's always the video of my (exhausted) guided tour of all the junk that I had to cart back (with some help from furniture movers) to this already-much-too-small terrace house:

Stuff

Stuff

Stuff

And more stuff

Guided tour of stuff

My dad and I had quite a fun time (read: sarcasm) hefting huge furniture items from the porch all the way up the stairs to the bedroom. Quite a workout, I kid you not. And now everything's aching, oy vey.

Anyway, I spent most of the day rearranging and sorting out stuff in my new room, a.k.a. the old folks' former bedroom. And while the layout is still very much a "work in progress", I'm quite pleased with what I've been able to do with it so far. Here are some sneak peeks of what the room looks like as of right now (with my doggy Chloe nosing about); still a tonne of stuff to join the mix, including my big-ass keyboard which is still lounging about in the back seat of my car (which, incidentally, is parked outside by the roadside, where any smart criminal could steal it. Yup, real clever of me, leaving studio-quality equipment out there. Hey, no biggie – it only cost me a low five-figure price three years ago, arf!). Here are the pics:



Ah well, that's about all for now, I guess. It's late and it's been a long weekend (figuratively and literally, since it's a public holiday tomorrow)... plus I'm not feeling entirely well, though I suspect it's mostly dust- and fur-inflicted allergies... so I'm gonna get into bed and watch some pre-snoozin' telly before hitting the sack. Till next time, folks... byebye for now.