Last Words for 2006

*Yikes!*

I can’t believe 2006 is coming to an end. Last few minutes left to go...

As I look back over what I’d accomplished in the past year, I feel a little sense of satisfaction growing. The three most significant issues pop into my mind:

• I plucked up enough courage to move outta my infohell comfort zone and landed a lecturing job at a polytechnic. Absolutely no regrets…so far.

• My haven@arif is finally completed. It’s backbreaking and time-consuming running about selecting tiles, lightings, sanitary fittings etc. Not to mention heartbreaking when the bills pile up and my bank statements reflect my poor financial health. Now we’re waiting for “good date” for moving in.

• I picked up Yoga. No more knee-pounding, high impact workouts for this aging mumsy. 6 months of stretching later I don’t profess to be an expert – maybe a wee bit more flexible. Can’t quite put my finger on it but I *think* it’s done me some good. Personally, I'm quite satisfied. Shouldn't be too greedy.

Here’s my top 10 list of what I hope to achieve in 2007:

1. To be a better mum


2. To be a better wife


3. To be a better daughter (and grudgingly, a better DIL)


4. To be a better teacher


5. To be a better friend


6. To be a better colleague


7. To be a better student (I intend to further my education)


8. To be a better writer/poet (I can dream)


9. To be a better cook (I can try)


10. To be a better person

There. My 2007 resolutions. Wonder if I'll be able to fulfill any.

On the whole, 2006 wasn't that horrid a year for me. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that my lucky stars will continue to shower me with good fortune and tidings in the next year. Here’s wishing everyone a string of successes and heaps of happiness in the 7th year of the new millennium!

Goodbye Astra, Hello Zafira

Posting delayed as I'd just gotten the pix off the camera...

The hub had been grumbling about the condition of our almost 5-year-old Opel Astra.

The dear ol' car broke down a couple of times over the last year for no apparent reason; the air conditioner got cranky when we needed it to work most; and it's frightfully uncomfortable when we make weekend trips to the supermarket with the hub, myself, MIL, DIL, kids and our domestic help squashed in the car.

Yes. It's time to get a bigger car.

The hub had recalculated our finances - we'd been drained of our savings after paying up for our haven @ arif and we’d only recently managed to improve our cash flow (lotsa scrimping and starving on my end). Don't ask me to explain but apparently it would no longer be worth keeping the car after March 2007. It's much less expensive buying a new car!

This only happens in Singapore where it’s more affordable to own a spanking new car than preserving an old car. Weird, I know.

Anyway, about a month ago - actually it was on 2 Dec 2006 - we made a trip down to Opel's car showroom along Ubi Close. The hub's been doing his homework to scout around for the "best car deal" (He's in the market research industry, so he knows exactly what type of information he needs, and he's so meticulous he doesn't leave any stone unturned. Besides, he's the driver, not me). He's also test-driven most of the cars that fit our needs. But most importantly, the hub had to convince himself that he'll no longer be driving a saloon car - size does matter and we have to purchase a Multi Purpose Vehicle a.k.a. MPV which can seat 7 people. Based on our budget and considerations, the Opel Zafira 2.2 (Auto) was the perfect choice.

We spent almost 2 hours on that Saturday afternoon in the showroom getting the paperwork and payment sorted out. And for the 2nd time this year, I realised that I was as poor as a churchmouse. My heart *nearly* needed to be jolted back by godzillion watts of electricity when the credit card was swiped through the machine and the hub penned his signature on the charge slip...

*ack* No more LOTR toys from Canada or the States. :'(

Actually I was rather upset that we were selling the Astra. Although I'd driven it only ONCE, I'd grown very fond of it and the thought of getting “rid” of the car saddened me greatly. It was our 2nd car (the 1st was a cheap old beat-up 7-year-old Volkswagen Vento which lasted us 9 months), and ferried us faithfully around the island, including trips to Mt. Alvernia Hospital where the girls were born. Our trusty Astra's been covered with baby poo, vomit and every conceivable solid and liquid, edible or otherwise. When we packed and moved homes, the dependable Astra zipped about with half our furniture and personal belongings in her boot and seats.

Argh. I'm rambling on like the sentimental fool I am. And Astra's not even a breathing living being!

The day finally arrived for us to collect the new car. The agent had called a few days earlier to inform us we could pop over at 5pm on 29 December 2006. The hub returned home early and I dressed the kids. We took a few pictures with Astra before setting off to the Opel showroom where we would trade the Astra for the Zafira.

It was an odd feeling as the hub took us on a final spin in Astra. Suddenly, she no longer looked like our beloved Astra – there was emptiness as I glanced around the almost bare Astra – wen’s car seat had been removed together with the umbrellas, toys, CDs, tissue boxes and other knick-knacks, leaving only the car decals and Looney Tunes head rest covers.

The sales agent spent about an hour guiding and demonstrating to us the functions of the MPV. Once the final documents were signed, it was time to drive home in Zafira. While the hub reversed the new car out of the showroom, the kids and I trooped out solemly to the carpark where Astra was resting. We clambered into the cushioned seats one last time and said our final farewell to our reliable brick-red car. We walked around Astra, blowing kisses and hugs at her, and got the agent to take more pictures as we posed with our Astra for the last time.

And I choked as a lump formed in my throat.

We got into Zafira and I wrinkled my nose as I took a whiff of the overpowering new leather seat smell (definitely not a fan of leather). The hub cruised along as he tried to get used to driving the new (automatic) car. Another agent drove Astra away – to be scrapped or exported, depending on the routine assessment on her condition. And we followed closely behind till we reached the junction and had to go in another direction.

Then it happened.

I started to cry.

The tears were streaking down my face and my voice broke as xian shouted goodbye to Astra, turned to me and asked where the (old) car was going. Then she saw my red eyes brimming with tears, and started to probe why I was crying.

It seemed silly to explain to her the tumultuous emotions I was experiencing over a car. A non-living thing. But to me, Astra wasn’t “just a car”. She’d been through two pregnancies with me. My kids “grew up” (and threw up) in the same car. I’d formed an emotional attachment with Astra also because she was our 1st new car.

Farewell Astra. Thank you for your services. I’ll miss the worn, comfortable cushioned seats and familiar brown-red hue.

Goodness gracious, I’m tearing up just thinking about this…

Pass me the tissues. Quick!

*bawl*

Goddamit, I’m an overly sensitive, emotional wuss.

xian's EZlink card

the hub and i decided to catch Eragon on wednesday night.

i really wanted to watch how the hollywood movie makers destroy or improve Paolini's so-called original tale about a boy's coming-of-age coupled with magic, dragons, elves, dwarves, urgals, shades, etc. (it's a mish-mash of LOTR, Star Wars, Harry Potter et al.)

the hub just wanted to watch a movie with epic battle scenes.

i'd taken leave to spend the december holidays with the kids and we decided to bring xian along to watch the movie. the plan was to meet the hub directly at orchard cineleisure for the 7.45pm show. xian and i had an early dinner and we hopped onto the bus to toa payoh before catching the mrt to somerset station.

the trouble's that xian's been growing quite a bit during the holiday and it's quite obvious she's way taller than 0.9m. i usually carry her when i board the bus, so that the driver wouldn't notice that she's over the height limit (which requires me to pay for her fare) but she's getting heavy...

we got on the bus and i struggled with xian's 19kg frame on my hip. after we got seats, i decided that this charade was well and truly over. i can't go on heaving her up my waist without breaking my back. saving that 50 cents just ain't worth it.

once we reached toa payoh interchange, i dragged her towards the ticketing counter and bought her a EZlink child card. i filled in a form to include her birthdate and birth certificate number. and handed over $6 to the staff.

my first born was elated. she kept grinning and insisted on holding on to the EZlink card.

xian's first EZlink card. wow.

then it occurred to me again. my xian's really, really, really, really growing up fast. and of course this means i'm growing older.

When it Rains, it Pours

Boy, you can say that again.

The cool weather’s great for sleeping in. I wanted nothing more than to rent a couple of DVDs, order pizza and chill out at home. Of course it doesn’t work that way. Not when you have kids.

Had taken leave on Tuesday to collect Wen's passport and update Xian's photo in hers. (She’s now 4½ years old and looks nothing like the 3-month-old infant in her passport). We’d planned to take a short drive-in to our neighbouring country for a day, just to “get out” for a bit. Of course that was before I read about Miss ene’s brush with lawlessness. That’s it! I ain’t ever gonna step foot into JB unless we’re en route to somewhere else and even then, will try not to step out of the car. Not safe especially with two kids in tow.

Anyway, both the hub and I had taken time off work so we proceeded to ICA to get the passports. We braved the howling winds, deafening roars of thunder and lightning flashed across the dark skies as we bundled the kids into the car and set off. When I reached the counter I took 2 separate queue numbers – “2587” for collecting Wen’s new passport (112 people ahead of us), and “7237” to update Xian’s photo (26 people ahead of us). I made a mental note to buy the 4D numbers, for the fun of it. If I win, the money goes into their education fund :)

There was a sea of people young and old who were there to apply for passports and other immigration documents. Xian and I joined another queue where she could take instant passport-sized photos. All around us were parents with wailing babies, screeching infants, wobbling toddlers, hyper-active children and other surly family members. After Xian had her pictures taken we moved to the waiting area, found some seats and waited.

And waited.

Xian attempted to watch The Lion King on the TV screens, sans volume. Wen got fidgety and kicked off her squeaky shoes.

And waited. *yawn*

Wen grumpily tried to wriggle free from my grip. I had no choice but to nurse her in public. She quieted down for 5 minutes before she grew impatient again and insisted on running around on the carpeted floors. Barefooted. Meanwhile Xian decided The Lion King wasn’t entertaining enough.

And still we waited. *stretch*

The hub’s rumbling tummy forced him to look for some food. He checked his watch and went outside, in the middle of the pouring rain, to tear off another parking coupon. Goodness knows why he bothered. I didn't think any car park attendant would be foolish enough to carrying an umbrella in this stormy weather to impose fines on errant drivers. But of course, one can never be too sure. Better safe than sorry I guess.

…And we waited some more…

The hub returned with curry puffs the size of Wen’s palm (It was THAT small) and grumbled about how expensive (and tasteless) they were. The kids started clambering up and down the hard plastic seats and disturbed other equally agitated (read: bored) children.
…then we waited…

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

It must have been two hours or so before “2587” flashed on the screen. I literally jumped up, excited that it was FINALLY our turn. I swear I was beginning to have butt cramps from sitting down for so long. Carried Wen on my left hip and ran to the counter. Yes, I ran – with Xian at my heels while the hub slumped into his seat. We were eager to create chaos just for kicks. And to make up for the looooooooooooooong wait.

Once we collected Wen’s biometric passport, we returned to our seats to wait for Xian’s number to be called. About 10 minutes later “7237” buzzed on the board. I handed over the Xian’s passport and new photo and we were told to wait another ½ hour while they processed the updated photograph.

*Groan*. Think the hub was ready to pass out (the curry puff wasn’t enough to quell his hunger).

When we eventually left the building, it was way past lunch time. Thank goodness I’d fed the girls before we left. It was pouring outside and the rain puddles were ankle-deep. The bad weather had washed away our mid-week family outing so we ended up back at our haven@arif where Cartoon Network, Disney Channel and MTV beckoned…

It was only when we watch the evening news that we realised how terrible the floods were:

Singapore on Tuesday was hit by the third highest rainfall recorded in 75 years.

The 24-hour rainfall recorded was 366 mm.

This amount of rainfall recorded in one day exceeds even the average amount of 284 mm recorded for the whole month of December in previous years.

The highest amount of rainfall recorded over 24 hours in Singapore was 512 mm, in 1978.

(Extracted from source: http://www.channelnewsasia.com)

Wow. Highest rainfall recorded in 75 years.

Thanks goodness we were indoors for most part of the day. It would have been be so horrid to be stuck with the kids outdoors in the thunderstorm. And to think I’d wanted to take them out with me via public transport!

Methinks it’s time to take a refresher course in driving. *Sigh*

the big kid

i've stumbled upon a new writer and her works to feast on. bought the three books last friday at bugis junction's kinokuniya.

just started on the first book of the trilogy: The Magician's Guild. unfortunately i'm hampered by tonnes or marking and can't devour the novel as quickly as i'd like to. but the holidays are approaching and once i clear my work i'm quite sure i'll have the opportunity to sit down and leisurely read my latest acquisitions.

trudi canavan is an australian female fantasy writer whom BigD happens to "know" (lucky devil). my learned colleague also commented that i've acquired quite an unusual reading genre i.e. i've become a fan of fantasy literature written specifically for CHILDREN.

yes. children. The Lord of The Rings trilogy, The Chronicles of Narnia, Harry Potter, The Inheritance Trilogy and The Black Magician trilogy are primarily for kiddies.

but as many of you already know, i'm a big kid.

strangely, my voracious appetite for children fantasy only surfaced when i was in my mid 20s - when i bought my first Harry Potter book. But it was the 2001 released LOTR movie that catapulted me into the world of fantasy. I dug out Tolkien's The Hobbit (which i read when i was 13) for another perspective (things seem so different when you're older) and laid my hands on the LOTR trilogy...and there was no turning back.

it's weird that the OLDER i become, the more intrigued i am about being lost in a magical, supernatural realm. this says a great deal about my psychological constitution doesn't it?

it takes two

i was topping up my ezlink farecard at the dhoby ghaut mrt station yesterday when i spied a young woman (under 20) leaning against the corner of the railing, hands in akimbo and wearing a stony expression. opposite her a gangly youth stood in a hunch, his head lowered. it wasn't difficult to make-out that a storm was brewing.

G: "LOOK at me when I talk to You!"
B: "mumble mphfrm mmfhmphmjkh mumble..."
G: "what? speak up! I can't hear you!"
B: "i'm er... mjnlkebl kmshdj hhjahkdjdl...sorry"
G: "huh? You think..."
B: "...mrjshjdkih mdh..."
G: "how dare you...!!!"

unfortunately i'd completed my transaction by then and had to move on as there was a queue of people behind me waiting to use the machine. either that or they were standing in line on the pretext of watching the drama unfold.

the girl's shrill voice could still be heard as i was walked away from the scene. she was obviously agitated and didn't care about the spectators who had turned to look at the lovers' spat. i sympathised with her submissive boyfriend who seemed at the loss for words and could only hang his head down while she continued to verbally abuse him. no prizes for guessing who wears the pants in that relationship.

and just this morning, while on the bus on on my way to work , i stood next to another young man who was on the phone with his girlfriend. (i was close enough to hear a female voice on the other line but wasn't able to decipher her words) it was a rather tense conversation and for most part, the guy was apologising profusely..."i'm sorry ok? will you please forgive me? i'm sorry i didn't consider your feelings...blah blah blah."

why is it that these two young men meekly accept and acknowledge their girlfriends' "superiority"? do they think it's "gentlemanly" to give in and allow themselves to be publicly humiliated?

ah, young love indeed.

i remember the times when i used to have tiffs with the ex. once i turned and stormed off in the opposite direction and headed home. those were back in ancient days when there were no mobilephones or the internet, and communication was limited to home telephone lines. i would fume for hours and refuse to pick up any calls, much to the delight of my folks who never approved of me dating then. naturally i'd cool down and regret my harsh and rash act, only to find my anger reignited the moment we start "thrashing out" the issues.

yes, i was foolish once. still am, some say.

of course these days with technology you can send a nasty sms to inflict emotional torture, block or delete someone from your msn contact list, diss your lover on your blog - detail by detail - and reveal the sordid affair to the entire online community.

i have "wizened up" with experience. temper-throwing tantrums and antics fail to work with the hub. if i get into a cranky confrontational mood, the hub immediately ignores me and walks away. he knows better than to fuel my animosity and trading insults will only escalate the situation. also, i've mellowed over the years and we're both not in favour of fighting in front of the kids because young though they may be, the girls can usually "sense" if we're annoyed with each other. plus we both know that toxic words hurled during arguments will only serve to gnaw at raw emotions. not good at all.

it's inevitable for couples in all relationships - whatever stage they're in - to rankle in disagreements. i'm not a feminist and i never believe that guys will have to humour their girls and give-in all the time, and vice versa. as the cliché states, it takes two hands to clap. no-one is ALWAYS right. nobody wins by playing the blame-game.

here's an apt poem to ponder over:

A Lovers' Quarrel
byElla Wheeler Wilcox (1850 - 1919)

We two were lovers, the Sea and I;
We plighted our troth ‘neath a summer sky.

And all through the riotous ardent weather
We dreamed, and loved, and rejoiced together.
* * *
At times my lover would rage and storm.
I said: ‘No matter, his heart is warm.’

Whatever his humour, I loved his ways,
And so we lived though the golden days.

I know not the manner it came about,
But in the autumn we two fell out.

Yet this I know – ‘twas the fault of the Sea,
And was not my fault, that he changed to me.* * *

I lingered as long as a woman may
To find what her lover will do or say.

But he met my smiles with a sullen frown,
And so I turned to the wooing Town.

Oh, bold was this suitor, and blithe as bold!
His look was as bright as the Sea’s was cold.

As the Sea was sullen, the Town was gay;
He made me forget for a winter day.

For a winter day and a winter night
He laughed my sorrow away from sight.

And yet, in spite of his mirth and cheer,
I knew full well he was insincere.

And when the young buds burst on the tree,
The old love woke in my heart for the Sea.

Pride was forgotten – I knew, I knew,
That the soul of the Sea, like my own, was true.

I heard him calling, and lo! I came,
To find him waiting, for ever the same.

And when he saw me, with murmurs sweet
He ran to meet me, and fell at my feet.

And so again ‘neath the summer sky
We have plighted our troth, the Sea and I.

the write hand

it's another friday! yeah!

in about an hour's time, i'll be out of the office and on the train heading towards town for my hot yoga session.

another reason for my jubilation?

1 test week plus 2 weeks of mid-term break! that's a 3-week break from teaching those rascals!

yipeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!

even though there are no classes next week, i still need to be at work to finish up on my piles of marking. not a pleasant thought having to sift through the assignments, especially the handwritten ones. i swear we're so used to typing on computers that when we've to actually communicate the "old-fashion" way, i.e. write using a pen on paper, it becomes an abominable and deplorable task.

hell, sometimes i can't even read my own handwriting after scribbling meeting minutes. the students often find it impossible to decipher my "chicken scratching" and often have to politely ask me to read out/explain the comments i've scrawled on their scripts.

humph! my handwriting is not THAT bad!

or is it? :P

one of those nights

it's almost 2am and i'm still wide awake.

so why am i up? because i'm enjoying some "me" time. the hub and kids are asleep and i'm multi-tasking: charging my ipod, blogging, checking my emails and chatting on msn. it's a rare occasion which i've come to cherish as these fleeting moments spring up ever-so-rarely. once a month, if i'm lucky.

so here i am, in the dead of the night, typing furiously on my almost-obsolete notebook. i can't speak for other nocturnal creatures but i am usually more sombre and reflective in the wee hours of the morning. when this happens, my mind starts to wander and i start to ponder about general "me" stuff. in other words, about what i've done so far in my life and what's missing.

quite a far bit, if i may add. what i'm missing.

i miss people. faces i haven't seen, names i haven't called out in years. the ones who offered their shoulders when i needed to cry rivers. those who smiled and listened while i wailed, ranted and raved. how often had i said "let's keep in touch", meant it, yet never did?

i miss my freedom. these days, i make decisions which would not compromise on my children's welfare. they have become my priority in life and my world now revolves around them. there are spasms of regret that i no longer live for myself. the girls are my responsibility.

i'm a mother. a scary thought.

woah.

parenting is a dreadfully serious business. notwithstanding the excruciating process of childbirth, i don't know how i managed to get talked into producing not just one but two babies.

i miss being "me". which leads me to my next question: who am i really?

sounds like another incoherent argument surfacing. an obvious indication that my inner demons are struggling to gain control over my rationality. either that or it's time for me to hit the sack and catch up on sleep. i think the z monsters have arrived to soothe this savage beast.

Colour me Campy

Marriage and motherhood have dulled me into a colourless entity. Not that I ever led a remotely exciting life in my pre-matrimony state to begin with. But I reckon I’m such a dreadful bore now.

My weekdays run like clockwork – rise by 7am, out of the house by 7.40am, catch 2 buses and reach school before 8.30am, leave school by 6.30pm (except for Fridays when work officially ends at 5.30pm and I rush for my 6.45pm yoga class at Raffles Place), try to get the kids to bed at 10pm (or later, depending on their moods) only to succeed in this mammoth task after an hour or two, and finally attempt to get some eye-shut after midnight.

Y-A-W-N.

Boring. I KNOW.

The only reason why I look forward to weekends is because our lil’ family gets to go out. It doesn’t really matter where we go – as long as we’re OUT of the in-laws’ home. Naturally, the ever-dutiful-and-filial hub would ask his folks to tag along (much to my exasperation because I prefer some quality time-out with the kids without their presence). But heck, it’s better than being stuck indoors. Even if it’s a mere grocery trip to NTUC, I take it as my reward for having endured another tortuous albeit dreary week.

Sundays reign supreme cos these days we spend at least the afternoons at my haven@arif. Not officially staying there yet but the kids love the space and needless to say I love the freedom to do whatever I damn well please in my own home. Sometimes I hook up my iPod Nano to the speakers (no budget for a home stereo system now), crank up the volume, and together with Xian, boogie to the BEP. (Xian likes to tune in to So You Think You Can Dance 2? and mimics the dance moves.)

Another reason why weekends are crazy? My idea of family fun includes dressing everyone in the same colours.

Ah yes. Frivolity is thy middle name.

I know it’s cheesy and tacky routine, but I get a kick out of it. It started with just Xian and I in matching colours (before Wen came along) but now Wen and even the hub are garbed in similar shades when we go out. This includes “official” functions like wedding dinners, family gatherings, festive occasions and whenever the four of us are outdoors together. Red was our theme this Saturday and on Sunday, we wore light blue / sky blue. When it gets tough for all four of us to be attired in the same colour (especially pink), the kids will be in one colour while the hub and I are in another. (As seen in pix where hub and I are in shades of brown/tan tops with beige pants while girls are in orange dresses) And since I shop for the family, it’s easy to co-ordinate their clothes because I know what’s in their wardrobes.

It is a trivial routine, but one in which I relish. The time will come when the kids grow older / wiser and decline to partake in this idle activity no matter how much I cajole / bribe / threaten them. Even now, Xian’s showing a rebellious streak of independence by refusing to wear some of the clothes I lay out for her (thankfully not the ones I bought).

Whimsical though they may seem at times, these are the little moments that keep me going. Whenever I’m running on empty and frustration threatens to unravel the seams that are thatched to my sanity, I seek comfort in the knowledge that during the weekends, I can add some colour into my family’s lives.

Literally or otherwise.

My Yellow Ribbon Project

It’s December already. Just one more month before 2007 takes over.

I always look forward to December, not just because of the festive season or holidays. There’s always something exciting about the “end” of the year. There’s always something you regret doing. There’s always something you wish you had time to accomplish.

I’d taken a huge risk in 2006 by switching jobs. 2 weeks ago, I’d met up with the timster for dinner and of course we ventured into the infohell territory. I remember one of the topics that cropped up was if I had any regrets in leaving my previous company. It’s been almost 6 months and frankly, I still miss my comrades especially my right hand, left hand, chief strategist-cum-adviser as they’d literally been through with me to hell and back. At the polytechnic, there are over 100 lecturers in the biz school and I’m surrounded by many nice folk, but few of similar quirkiness, angst and temperament – so I count myself fortunate to have BigD, pooh, GR, miss ene as my colleagues.

The pros outweigh the cons though – I no longer have to sit through meaningless meetings which stretch for arduous hours and test my crisis management skills on a daily basis. But, as timster has pointed out: the camel syndrome is still hardwired into my system. Although I’m desperately trying to adopt a “teach-n-go” attitude and leave punctually at 6 o’clock, the workaholic in me is struggling to break free. For example, I’d taken child care leave last Wednesday to take Wen for her Measles Mumps Rubella (MMR) inoculation. After my 3 hour expedition at the paediatrician’s, I couldn’t resist the urge and dragged the girls to the office (which was about a 10 minute walk away) so that I could pick up some scripts back home to mark. I really wanted to meet the marking deadline which was 2 days away...

*aaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhh*

Will this beast of burden EVER be free? It’s like a prisoner who’s been unshackled and released back into society but in his mind he’s still locked up in a cell and behaves likewise. Admittedly I’ve been too conditioned to the ways of infohell. The timster had given me a yellow ribbon before I left (with reference to the yellow ribbon project about ex-convicts given a second chance), and in the last few days leading to my departure, my theme song was Tie A Yellow Ribbon Round the Old Oak Tree.

It was wicked. Totally. Heh Heh Heh...

Maybe in 2007 I'll learn to relax a little more when it comes to work. In the meantime, I still have about 30 days left to ponder over what I've achieved over the past year and what I haven't.