i need cleansing desperately.
written: 9:55 p.m. on Sunday, Oct. 23, 2005

I didn't get Man Crazy's epilogue and it would've been a perfect book if that disgusting and terribly disturbing sacrificial ritual scene weren't included. I read it at 2 a.m. and felt so sick to my stomach that I couldn't move for about a couple of minutes, because Joyce Carol Oates's writing is so vivid that it sucks you in, and I felt like I was there witnessing the heinous crime, like I was the narrator watching this fucked up Satanist (literally) saw off a person's head while he's still alive and cut up his chest and rip out his still-beating heart and passing it around amongst the cult members and they all had a sip of his blood and just re-telling the story? It's making me sick all over again.

The second half of the book, starting from the chapter where Ingrid Boone met Enoch Skaggs (the fucked up dude mentioned above and leader of the Children of Satan or whatever it was), was just horrific. I mean, I read Fight Club and barely flinched, I read half of this dubious book called The Diary of Jack the Ripper and went to sleep peaceful, I read Invisible Monsters which someone I know couldn't get through and stopped reading halfway (I don't know why) and thought it was awesome, what I'm saying is I take pretty okay to gore in novels, but god, Man Crazy was just crazy. It's so disturbed and disturbing and fucked up and horrific and why does she have to write so damn well? At the hands of a lesser writer that scene I briefly outlined in the paragraph above would've been comedic instead; but it haunted me that night and it will keep haunting me and I will never forget it.

Just thinking about it is making me feel like taking a shower. I feel dirty and scarred.

**

Something worth mentioning: I've never encoutered decent service at Zara, until yesterday. I was at the Ngee Ann City branch as I wanted to change a shirt. I bought a size S one and I couldn't believe that it fit okay as I always buy size M shirts, so I went there and tried on an M and even though it was really big it felt more comfortable than the size S, and being me, I couldn't decide if I should make an exchange or not, so in the end I decided, Since they have an exchange policy, I might as well just buy the M and go home and try it with this nice skirt and see which one looks nicer.

So I asked this salesgirl about their exchange policy and then asked her for a new piece. She came out of the storeroom and told me apologetically (and she really was apologetic) that it was the last piece, and then I started to tell her about my debacle, that I didn't know which one I should get and look there's a lipstick stain on the collar of the shirt, and then she held up the M and exclaimed, But this is so big for you! I was like, You think? But the S is a bit tight around the shoulders.

Then she did something I would never have expected from a Zara salesgirl. She took an S from the rack and held it against my back, and said, This one fits you better. You should just stick with this one.

And thus I was convinced.

I'm so stupid, aren't I?

That salesgirl spoke with a bit of an accent and I don't think she's Singaporean - which explains everything.

Anyway, that was nice.

It's so sad that good service astounds me, isn't it?

**

Tomorrow is the interview and I'm fucking scared.

That's all I have to say.

before sunrise // before sunset

Previously:
- - Tuesday, Aug. 29, 2017
I'm moving. - Sunday, Jul. 11, 2010
In all honesty - Tuesday, Jul. 06, 2010
What I want for my birthday... - Sunday, Jul. 04, 2010
On Roger's behalf. - Friday, Jul. 02, 2010