Suicide Mondays

"Welcome to the real world," she said to me, condescendingly.
"Take a seat, take your life ...Plot it out in black and white" - from the John Mayer song "No Such Thing"

There is a special corner of loathing in my heart reserved for Mondays. Days when I bob between feeling suicidal and feeling homicidal. Days at the end of which I feel so bruised and weary, dealing with non-stories and sugar-coated threats from outsiders. "Rough day" doesn't begin to describe it.

These are times when I fall back on Jo's Law of Averages. And it works too. In her view, a slow news week must be followed by the mother of all crises. Like this week's. "See? It all averages out," she beams, gulping down her lunch in 10- minutes to rush down and watch the Thai news.

For me, it means the rest of the week is filled with enough true journalism and smart conversations to, um, last me till the next Suicide Monday.

We all live for the adrenaline rush of a biggie. You know it when you hear the news and, in the thrill of the chase, forget how tired and hungry you are. You dissect, you distill, you weave it into something worth reading. That, my dear, is journalism.

I was in the middle of Raffles Place yesterday and the billboard speakers started to blast John Mayer's No Such Thing. It brings back so many memories of uni, of five people eating pizzas past midnight and throwing up random ideas so that one of us can be the first to solve a game theory riddle, doesn't matter who.

It is also one song that hits the spot for me, one song that if you are feeling blue about the real world, only serves to make you clinically depressed. I stood there and felt my eyes turn bleary.

Ageing Disgracefully

I know, I know, I just came back from a holiday - if you call traipsing around Shanghai in 36 degree heat where every road crossing is a near-death experience a "holiday". It wasn't that bad, honestly.

But from now until the circus leaves town at the end of the month, there are probably a lot of places I'd rather be . Preferably somewhere with good, strong coffee, heaps of bookstores, a roaring oceanfront and no phones around.

I know these won't be happening before "It" comes around. SK has experienced it. Fang has so glamorously grown into it. Mel is partying until it comes around, and will probably be partying long after it leaves.

I'm talking about my 30th. Like a final exam, it probably comes around sooner than anyone had hoped. You can try to ignore it. The thing is, as the day approaches, I can palpably feel the arrival of Age.

In some ways, the number doesn't gel with what I am feeling and thinking. In other ways, yes. I look at women at 25 and go, Hmm, I wouldn't do what they are doing right now but hell, I would have five years back - with more candour, silliness and abandon.

Do people mellow with Age? No. I think some of us get more full of fire, more angry, more rash. Here are some things I've learnt through the years:

- My favourite labels are, in ascending order: Country Road, Marni and Machine Washable.

- Drinks are great, but my idea of a fab night out does not involve puking.

- You realise that if you ( yes, I am referring to you) have to spend weeks analysing why a guy hasn't called and what he meant with that sentence he said on the rare occasion he did call, and if that analytical exercise involves at least three friends, the only answer is: He's not that into you, sweetie. Find someone worthy of you.

- A great job is something you put passion into and derive dignity from - be it making a latte, sewing a dress or managing millions of dollars.

- Why age gracefully when you can age disgracefully?