Single

Saturday. 15th Jan 2005.

Home alone. Just cos' you're single, you shall so stay in your crib on a Saturday night. And every other Saturdays to come.

Am I accounted for? Beats me.

Best friend #1's chilling with the girlfriend, best friend #2's singing the blues away.

"I've to fetch my girlfriend from the driving school after her lesson." So said one.

"I'm gonna be at partyworld for karaoke with my girl." So said another.

"We're gonna catch a movie later..giggles.." said one coyly.

Yes, the folks in love. Saccharine sweet they will always be.

A friend spent 3 years reading a book. She was slated to finish in less than 3, but she took her time with the last chapter. Word by word she appreciated, it was her favourite book. Finished the last chapter, crestfallen she was. The book was engaging a read. It was well-penned, it was dramatic, it was addictive. The author ran outta juices and couldn't write on. The book lavished upon her euphoria and weakened her with sorrows. Happiness too ephemeral to be savoured till twilight years, but momentous enough to leave its mark. Blows too faint to be fatal, but potent enough to hurt. The last chapter didn't make sense for a while, she seeked closure. A conclusion, a cessation which seemed all so remote. She thought the author irresponsible; the ending was abrupt, she couldn't fathom why the author wouldn't continue. Yes, ran outta juices. He was in search of new inspirations perhaps. Stale material aren't all that intriguing. He felt he wasn't headed for a Booker or Pulitzer prize with that sorta junk.

The author has embarked on his new book. My friend didn't like his style of writing no more; he doesn't need her patronage anyway, he's got a new aficionado. She's in search of better authors, or perhaps has already found. One who's deserving of her Booker prize.

Time for that jog.