Time: 01:16

Oww: Head ache.

Ha ha ha -notice the tone of sarcasm: 'Elest, does any one ever mistake Haido for a guy?'

'Riddle me this': Has any one heard of The Mars Volta? Televators? No?

Sigh: Ramadhan is not going as well as I'd like it to.

Grrrrr: This is because I'm just real crap.

Ah! Is that me? make it go away!: I think I'm gaining back the weight I lost this summer- according to some people, that's a good thing, but personally I was feeling the Ramses's mummy look, hence, am not feeling this. Not to mention, hair has now got a red tint to it. Thank you shiKt henna treatment- next time, I'm putting the whole pack of ebony in there, and I don't care if I turn out goth-black. Apparently we are Dark and there is nothing we can do about it. (and by 'we' I mean that in the multiple personality sense of the word, not the queen's-anal-retention sense of the word.)

Clang clatter clatter: Time to pull off emotional armour and start losing appetite and losing sleep again. Might as well turn Dark into Tortured-Byronic-Poet Darkness, think I can pull it off with my new Highway man coat too (and I mean Highwayman, in the cute-heroine-out-of-Shakespearian-cross-dressing-play sense of the word. Freedom to the female roles! Or Freedom to boy actors from the indignity of wearing dresses on stage, even if only for a little while! -Take your pick.)

Hmmm: Oddly enough though, as unattractive as we've been feeling (and by 'we' I mean that in the Shakila and I sense of the word, not the multiple personality sense of the word.) apparently two silly young ladies turned quite a few heads down in London today! Oh behave! -By the way, we've decided to speak Jane Eyer English from now on. Out with the 'crushes' and 'liking' and 'chemistry' nonsense- a direct result of the bane of our day and age; being cynicism and scepticism, and basically the Beauty-of-Simple-Innocence making cartwheels in its grave.
From now on, I'm falling in love man, there and then, on the spot! Ideally my true feelings will be concealed by deep hate, intimidation, or fear, until the fateful moment: OH MR. ROCHESTER! -'reader, I married him.' end of story...and no false promises of anything happily-ever-after either...after all the guy is too old, ugly (though I refused to accept it throughout the book.) and now blind too!

Here's my spin on what Jane Eyer should have said at the end (mind you, Bronte's ending sucked): 'Reader, I promise you we encountered a great deal of human waste in our lives- and the kind that thoroughly disagreeable company generally use that obscene 'S' word to describe with. That kind.
Our relationship was far from smooth, our lives hardly Barbie, and there were many a rainy day when we could find no bread to have with our broth, because the last shilling went towards paying for the marraige councelling bills. Not to mention, I hate dogs, and Mr. Rochester is so attached to his guide bitch.
But you see reader, if I didn't marry him, I would have regretted it till the day that my miserable essence ceased to linger in this cold and lonely world...Because I believed for an instant that flawed little me and flawed little he were meant to perfect each other. Jigsaw puzzle style.
So do you think me daft, that I call this, the ability to endure a togetherness that was often times very vexing and taxing and all that stuff, love? We are human after all, very capable of hating one another...so why is it I must understate those kinder feelings in me?'

I think once upon a time we believed we were deserving of wielding an emotion very near to something divine. A heroic, romantic history of poetry and stories attest to it. When did we lose faith in ourselves?

Close parenthesis. I'm going to bed.