Urrgh.. writing is becoming a chore. Stale. It's the result of writing about the same things again and again.

Googly, the word "metaphysics" means:
- the philosophical study of being and knowing
- a branch of philosophy, and related to the natural sciences, like physics, psychology and the biology of the brain; and also to mysticism, religion, and other spiritual subjects. It is notoriously difficult to define, but for purposes of briefly introducing it, it can be identified as the study of any of the most fundamental concepts and beliefs about the basic nature of reality, on which many other concepts and beliefs rest
- a branch of philosophy involved with examining and discussing the ultimate nature of reality...Aristotelian writings that came after the physics section; hence, metaphysics.
- the study of the fundamental nature of being and reality; supposedly distinct from physics, as it attempts to consider issues concerning the existence and nature of non-physical entities, or the nature of being and reality as such (in itself)
- a field of abstract thought and philosophy about topics not on the concrete or physical level of understanding. This includes subjects like existence, the soul, being, the supernatural, astral travel and psychicism.
- that which is beyond the known laws of physics.

I remember the freshman writing seminar I took in the second semester. The notes I took in that class are, as others, crossing the Pacific Ocean. A Jewish girl with bold and attractive features talked of "metaphysics" as if she takes it off the shelves of Wegman's on a weekly basis. In those days of feeble English abilities, and hiding within my aunt's bulky red down jacket due to utter terror and dread of the cold, I couldn't even get know of her name. Knew that she was friend with a Chinese guy called Greg, who turned out to be gay, and saw her several times on campus, once with bf and once without.

It's my friend's birthday tomorrow. Regarding the trait of forgetting friends' birthdays that friend is similar to me. But it's better not to assume that she doesn't mind her own birthday forgotten as well. There's always a tendency of forgetting your own birthday for dramatic satiation of reminding others of it like a tragic heroine. Except that this kind of satiation is more often than not replaced by a sense of idiocy for self. Not made up for tragic heroine. At best a drunken biography-composing Bridget Jones.