31 days hath january

Not too long ago, as I was hitting my annual year-end slump, I had a semi-long mdnight phone conversation with a seemingly-perpetually-on-the-prowl friend, who is also a former-journalist-turned-wannabe banker. [Pardon my hyphens, I have no idea how to punctuate something like this, even though it's my job to know such things.]

As we were discussing my non-existent love life, he said something like, "The reason why is because..." and I almost had a brain aneurysm. What has happened to his English?

I told him that the forecast for my love life in 2006 wasn't fantastic. Very bad, in fact, according to some Taiwanese horoscope quack on TV. Aquarians apparently will have the second worst luck in matters of the heart, because they think too much, consider too many options, ponder too hard in general when they should just go with their hearts. [Don't ask me which star sign is the worst, because I wasn't able to decipher it with my poor Mandarin.]

True to form, I've been over-analysing me, myself and the various hims in my life. And to my horror, as I re-read this blog, I found a pattern emerging. I always get into scrapes in my favourite month of the year -- January.

Two years ago, I recklessly kissed a boy I shouldn't still be kissing on New Year's Eve and ended up eventually having to explain all over again to him why I couldn't see him anymore.

Last year, I got all tied up in knots when I had an epiphany and realised I could see myself marrying and growing old with a certain someone -- who would never be mine.

This year -- just one day into the new year -- and I've already told someone I'm not going to flirt with him anymore.