*

For the first time in my life I was quietly dreading the holidays to come, because that would mean I would be thrown into a sea of no direction, no purpose to wake up for, no work to lose myself in. I started getting scared at this unfamiliar stranger who didn't get excited at the prospects of shopping, watching tv, or even sleeping (even sleeping!!!). No, all I wanted to do was to lose myself in work and work and more work.

I think I might be a changed person now, and I attribute it to the last 4 months of unceasing deadlines. I never used to be much of a workoholic, but the last 4 months opened my eyes to the unexplainable joys of losing myself in task after task, burrowing my head and filling my mind up with to-do lists like no tomorrow. Yes, I think I actually quite enjoy work now. Workholic? Perhaps a newbie. Escapism? Very likely.

I never quite understood it, but now I think I do. Working against a deadline gives you an adrenaline rush that makes you feel more alive than ever. And the completion of a task done well is just about the best feeling in the world. Oh, and, it makes you forget about everything else too.

*

Today was perhaps the first day of the holidays I felt so alive. I woke up, made an important phone call, scurried to assemble the relevant documents, rushed for a lunch meeting at the mint museum of toys, gave them our video we did of them, rushed home, "collated my specimens" (as said by S), sent them out, wrote an email to a loved one, then rushed off for another meeting at night.

What an adrenaline rush! Loved it!

*

People always tell me I'm in a daze, and I've come to conclude that perhaps they might be right. E told me that whenever a group of us talk, I never fail to trail off after a while into my own world, softly humming to myself as I retreat from the conversation. I never used to notice that, but recently I've been caught red-handed many times.

There was the time before the paper we went to the toilet (yes girls go to the toilet together), carrying on the conversation as we each entered different cubicles. And suddenly E stopped and asked, "tiffy, are you humming to yourself in the cubicle??!"

And there was the other time we huddled around a bench, unwinding and talking about the exams that were to come. I trailed off slowly in my signature way, and a soft tune hummed out from my mouth. N, who was sitting beside me and who was talking, stopped. "Tiffy, have you started going off into your own world?"

"Yes she's started humming already," E piped in.

And the most recent one. We were sitting around a table outside Mac's on a hot Monday night. The girls were talking about haircuts, when SH said, "Tiffy why are you smiling to yourself? You look like you're going to start floating upwards any minute."

I'm not kidding you when I say I really take no notice of such subconscious idiosyncracies. I asked SS once. Do I really always go off into my own world? "Ya, you're in a daze like 80% of the time!"

Hm. So I've been wondering, what do I offer when I'm with other people, since I'm technically not there 80% of the time? This is such a life-defining moment.

*

I've been carrying the new issue of Reader's Digest around with me recently. These days, I pounce on every opportunity to read the magazine when I'm travelling. Reminds me of someone I know who reads on all his train rides. I sleep on all my trains rides, I replied him, without batting an eyelid.

SS calls my to and fro 45 min train rides "lost in translation" moments for me. Once I step into the train, I just let it do its thing for the next 45 mins, and I'm literally lost from the world during that window of time. I didn't even know Tanjong Pagar was a station along the line I ply back and forth religiously 5 (on lucky weeks, 4) days a week.

Anyway back to Reader's Digest. I read a beautiful story in the magazine today. A woman talked about her mother's hands. She wrote how lovely she thought her mother's hands were, but her mother always thought otherwise. They're ugly hands, her mother always said of her own hands.

Yet these were the mother's hands that lovingly prepared her lunchboxes, the very hands that clutched the steering wheel while on the way to school. And later, these were the mother's hands that held hers, which were abused many times from injecting drugs.

It's amazing how such a simple story had such a poignant effect. The topic of growing up never fails to put me in a pensive mood.

*

Today, my biggest faux pas (euphemism for bimbo moment) was at lunch.

I played around with the metal salt and pepper shakers, lifted them slightly, then exclaimed very excitedly,

Oh my gosh! They're magnetic!

My friends looked at me as though I was crazy. It's their weight la, they said. I thought for a while, and blushed. Darn, they're right. The table is a freaking piece of plastic!