Soaring through the sky

You bring me flowers when it's wet with rain
You break my heart when it's all the same
Breath-mints and lollipops are what you're made of
But darling, sweetheart, don't you think it's too late


The music playing in the next cubicle reminds me of having voices in one's head. But I like. She has good taste.

I love my babes. They're going kite-flying with me this Sunday, without any persuasion at all.
I think they're used to the activities I put us through. It'll be nice to slack around and be merry after ages and ages of not meeting up.

I miss wrestling in playgrounds and hills with Chris and attempting escapes from Shing's ambush while stuck in a headlock. Yay to new battle scars!

Maybe my 53.33% of maleness is the cause of my amenorrhea...there, mystery solved and all without the hassle of popping pills every 3-4 months.