Saturday, August 25, 2007
bloodyhell
Poor Shakeena has just become the No 1 public enemy of 303 due to her overzealous monitoring of our class. Oops.
2 class bookings in three days = Class DC!
The school might just as well stick a label on our foreheads and assume we are wreaking our negative influences on the sacred school culture, god forbid.
5:52 AM
somewhere somewhat
Lathiga: Why don't they just scrape soccer?
Syah: Don't say the S word.
We had a mildly productive conversation during PE today - in which we effectively shut out the teacher and his diatribes on the impeccable skill of our school softballers and the importance of batting...well something along the lines - about soccer (or rather the absurdity of it) . Well the topic was the PE teacher's fault seeing how he has a particularly bad habit of making random associations between our short attention spans and EPL . Yeah, just because we are not listening to him, he assumes we were discussing EPL.
I am not getting Maths either. Its not wholly her fault - having an OCD for cleanliness which surpasses the capacity to teach is entirely understandable - but I actually want to be able to grasp her concepts without having to bang my head on the table multiple times just to make sure I am not in a macabre nightmare, and yes, she, who thinks relating her past heroic endeavours and anecdotes takes precendence over teaching, is very much real.
I am this close to self expiration.
7:39 AM
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
this is the finish line
I suffer an apocalyptic childhood. I cease to term it a childhood (or teenagehood if you are wishing to be technical) because the definition of such a period constitutes happiness and memories of rhetoric laughter and unscheduled fun. It does not include strings of exams or sleep deprivation...definitely not frequent episodes of wallowing in self pity.
Tons of works to do and time seems to be in incooperative factor. It has a mind of its own, and a pace it seeks to satisfy itself. I am tired of lots of things, and my years of pseudo-emo seems to have translated into a very real scenario of massive depression - except I have too many things in my mind to offer authentic angst a corner to crawl into.
I don't think I want to go RJC. It is not a catharsis of any sort. The few weeks have been a catalyst to an alternative I have been mulling over. I don't know, honestly. The permanency feels hollow, its an education system wrung into your senses there is almost nothing to look forward to. More exams, maybe but otherwise I am afraid to plough into the future for what waits to greet me is only a replication of wretchedness.
On other matters, the blog will be on hiatus until I retrieve myself from proverbial hell. Then, I would refurbish these slobbery chunks of emoness and stop inflicting my emotional irrationalities on the world.
12:40 AM
twenty seconds to comply
My life is progressing at the rate of a derailed freight train. I am inevitably nearing breakdown…somewhat. I don’t know really. My perpetual hissy fits thrown in the confines of my room usually put a damper on the escalating frustration, but strangely the last time I threw myself an emotional tantrum was two weeks ago. I had seen it coming with the exodus of Mathematics worksheets I have been bleeding my brains over. I proceeded to fling my Mathematics workbook at the door – perhaps hoping to symbolise the abdication of the subject from my life – and swear at half the world for not being inclined towards number and reason. Then again, there is a reason why I am impulsive to the core. My brain does not begin to function until the decision has been finalised, and I am stirred into a mental rant on the spectrum of my self-stupidity.
I am not looking forward to the long weekend. For one, I will not be engaging in any nation loving activities of sorts, nor accompanying my family to the National Day Parade. Sure the floats, ships and parachutes are interesting, but I can think of things more thrilling than slouching in the heat of Marina Bay for half a day in a momentary surge of interest towards the nation. Thirty years later, I would rather relate to my grandchildren about that time when I temporarily loaned my sanity and got myself a tattoo or flew myself to Las Vegas and got hitched in a dingy marriage booth to a gay club stripper than about that day when I watched the National Day Parade in 2007. Oh really, I do
NOT get the appeal of the parade.
Someone enlighten me.
Not that I would be doing any of the above of course >< Instead I would be trying to revise Biology and Social Studies for the slew of tests the school has scheduled for us immediately after the holidays. In my world of wishful thinking, I actually used to believe the administration had a semblance of a heart within all the layers of monotony.
Oh well.
10:04 AM