Men of high expectations

Today, my brother and I found my darling Lady sleeping so sweetly and soundly. Didn't even wake up to the shuttle sound of my camera.
I think I must be like that when I sleep. She's so sweet, so cute, such a dear.
aww... what is she dreaming about?

http://dino-14579.livejournal.com/ - see the puppy corgi (black!) on this blog. I am so infatuated with it and it's heart shaped butt. It's the cutest thing ever.

I have high expectations of myself, perhaps unduly, riduclously high. And yet, I'm so tardy about other things that I don't care for. And I know, of people, who have such high expectations of others.

This man in my life, whom I love, but want to scream at sometimes. After a week apart, we can't hold a proper conversation, because I can't help but cringe and rebutt at his comments about everything - from the empty shoebox, to that contact lens case, to why I"m exercising, why I am not exercising, the shampoo, the soap, the number of bottles in the fridge, why I'm eating, why I'm not eating... every damned thing there is to nit-pick, it's been done. I asked if dinner was nice, and carelessly mentioned that I got it from NUS, and then the food was no longer nice - because of all the 'effort' i put into going all the way to school to get it. I can't meet his expectations. I try to compromise sometimes, but I don't want to meet them, because it's just not in my nature.

And this other man, he reminds me of my incompetence every Sunday. I'm not complaining, it's his job, and I'm glad he's doing it. It's just that, I feel such a sense of failure sometimes. After working so hard during the week, harder than the previously week- at 6am in the morning, when I get back from work, I realized, I still fall so short of his expectations. Back to the basics, over and over again, and suddenly, I feel like I've never achieved anything after all these years at the ivory keys. He spoke of auditions, which he never put me through- and I realized, how fortunate I am, for I probably would never have met his expectations (and maybe a bit guilty too.) But more than anything, I'm determined to show that I can do it - not him, but myself, because I want to do this. Discipline, discipline, discipline.

From this week onwards, I'm going to keep a log book my my practise, just like the guys I see in the gym, who record their workout details. Really, I increasingly feel tempted to turn into an antisocial recluse- to hide in the office during lunch break to do my stuff, then go straight home after work, to practise and practise, run alone.

I really quite a loner, all the things I pursue are solitary activities! I love to run, mainly because I can do it myself. Almost anytime I feel like it. No obligation to do it at a certain time every week because 'we' have set a time, no need to be subject to the scrutiny and words of others when I'm doing my thing, no one to stop or push me when I don't feel like it. I've rarely enjoyed team sports- I didn't like basketball, netball was fine, soccer was tiring because so many people was chasing one ball and only one got to kick... I've never gone working in pairs- duo piano playing (which I love), and badminton doubles when I still played competitively. Even then, I always liked the singles game, except I wasn't good enough for it. Maybe my mum is right when she says I'm just locked into my own world.

My expectations just keep getting higher and higher!