skin dry and ugly, how i feel.

Facebook is so addictive that I almost desert my blog. Time to update but actually there is not much to be updated. Still participating that 9-6 rat-race everyday (and probably it will last for the rest of life, how unlucky/lucky). I told myself to stay here for 1 year for the sake of my resume (but maybe i can't get through the probation, who knows? for my total lack of communication and obviously low morale, then i may stay longer in the winterland, how lucky/unlucky). Got an interview last evening, the boss seemed to be pleased with me (yes, i always have that 30-minute good first impression, one of my ex-boss said how i had cheated him, haha), smoked and talked about babyshambles, she's the unusual boss but the job (and herself) seem a bit demanding, OT is a certainty, the office is located in tung chung ... humm, for i still enjoy a drink now and then after work, so i better turn it down today. Work seems to be an origin of anxiety, i wonder if i could tolerate a few years, save a bit and then go quitting and enjoying life for a while. I know it's just a whimsical thought for my earning is pathetically minimal and my spending is if not huge but still considerable. Maybe i should control myself and write down my daily expenses like Gatsby (i mean the great gatsby, not the hair products) in his younger days. Talk about book, my sister strongly recommended the secret diary of adrian mole to me, thinking that i would enjoy any book about freakish teenage boy. No no, not at all. I felt like i was reading bridget jones diary. It was obviously written by a woman. Not cycnical and freakish enough. vernon god little is miles better, not to say catcher in the rye (for holden caulfield already lives inside my brain). turn to read the (not quite) secret diary of peter doherty. actually I could not understand his handwriting so maybe it is still a secret diary. He was frank about his affairs with girls, but of course i looked for the trace about carlos. I have the feeling that they started just as friends but later with some kind of magic/chemistry their relationship was "crystallised" (yes, i felt it between the lines) He never talked about it openly like that with francesca, just some broken phrases, like a whispering, almost a slip of the tongue. "Control? None of it your mother's a drunken old you're the one I worship and adore..." "I put the sick pig to bed ...your love has made misery distant... hypocrit-you are, critic & a hypocrit sucking on your finger plastic bags under your eyes" (ok he may just refer to someone else, but i like to think it as barat). And i was glad to find out an interview once published on the internet but i forgot to print it or save it. It was now in the diary. That is one of my favourites and peter must also feel the same (great minds think alike!) he was compared to keats (or yeats?) and wilde but peter opted for verlaine - "when indistinct meets the precise". I myself love verlaine very much (nothing to do with peter's choice). As a poet verlaine is even better than rimbaud (of course the outlook was totally the other way round). sadly the diary does not include the last part of the interview which was the most interesting, talked about noughts and crosses, the writer ane peter both agreed that was an imitation of life, so meaningless, and the writer felt a bit dejected but peter said something like, this is a game you cannot win, but at the same time you cannot lose. oh isn't he wise! i have typed non-stop, what happened? i must be on the verge of collapse. the title was also what i found in peter's diary, and this is also what i feel now, great minds think alike this time? oh no.