The reader accepts, on reading of this disclaimer, that the Internet is a vast wasteland of crap that spews out of human minds. This blog is no different. Any assumptions or conclusions that the reader draws from this blog are not the responsibility of the author, along with any physical or psychological harm that might result from the reading of this blog.
Author
The author is a paranoid, deranged and cynical misanthrope who records snippets of her life so that she will remember them when she grows old and withered. The identities of any names or initials on this blog are based on the assumptions of the reader unless otherwise specified, and the author claims no responsibility for them.
Reality
The author somehow got into medical school. Yes, you of the general public, shudder and fear the wrath of an inept doctor.
Loves
Reading, Maisy (my dog), tea, writing (albeit badly), piano, music, junk food.
Hates
Almost everything else besides the things mentioned above.
Friends
Bao Cheng' Bernice' Chien Young' Chun Hing' Claire' Faustina' Felicia' Ferly' Gloria' Irene' Irene & Jiaying' Jac' Jiamin' Jiasin' Jiaying' Lutheng' Karene' Marissa' Melesa' Mingyi' My fictionpress' Pamelia' Pei Rong' Qiu Ting' Rachel' Satires Site' Stasia' Sylvia' The Clique' Vinette' Wenjia' Xin Rong' Xue Ying' Yanne & I' Yanne & Jamie' Zeena' 203'
Archives
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05/01/2014 - 06/01/2014
Chat area
Another week of terror awaits me tomorrow. In fact, the weekend has been horrible, since my carcass was dragged out by my brother at 6.30 AM, yes, AM. Where to? Fishing, of all things. I wouldn't have minded at all if it were a book sale or art gallery, but of all places, fishing. And today, I've had to drag my carcass through that poetry essay, of which I'd been procrastinating for about a month. It's due tomorrow, and of course I don't want teachers ringing my mom up like it were some NKF donation (doubt many would call though. NKF? For gold-plated taps? No way.) hotline, with my amazing stunt of not completing my homework. I'm certain I'll flunk it, but I'm intending to use it to chuck it into the bin (unfortunately, I don't have any pet to line the basket of. It would cause the poor pet to constipate and die if I did in any case do that anyway.) after getting it back, since I really detest the sight of it (pain in the ar*e). Yes, despite the fact that the song I did it on was by R.E.M. What a pity, and sheer waste of a bright, beautiful Sunday afternoon...
And I am hyperventilating as BOB DYLAN has a new book on him! It's called 'THE BOB DYLAN SCRAPBOOK 1956-1966', but what a waste, a churchmouse like yours truly would never be able to spend $80 (excluding GST, mind you) on a book. All the same, it's going on my wishlist, but I'll probably have to strike lottery. Another book would be 'Poetry Speaks', edited by Elise Paschen and Rebekah Presson Mosby (I have no idea who these obscure people are. Maybe I am the ignorant one here...). It costs even more than the Bob Dylan book, at a pocket-ripping price of $89.95 (once again, excluding GST). It's a collection of poems, and I guess I shouldn't bother getting it since I can read those poems on the Net.
I'm looking for 'The Lame Shall Enter First' by Flannery O'Connor. Yes, the book from which that fateful excerpt was taken for the LA unseen prose EOY. I've read a little of it, and the boy (the one spreading peanut butter on the stale cake) called Norman hanged himself. Reason being that Rufus (the one with his mother in the state prison, or penitentiary) told him that if he killed himself young, he would be able to see his mother in heaven. Rufus is a religious fanatic as his grandad, who'd raised him, was that way. The name of the book is actually what Rufus believes in, which is that the lame shall enter heaven first. Rufus has a club-foot, for those who've forgotten...
More about the essay, since I've nothing better to talk about. I'd started doing it at 4 PM, and as usual, yours truly was undecisive, and was ploughing through a whole load of song lyrics until she'd gone cross-eyed. And when it was 6 PM, the time for my daily dose of 'The Simpsons' (with the exception os Saturdays), I was so torn between rushing to the sofa, plonking my sore butt on the soft cushions and observing the 'couch potato code of order' and finishing my essay. If you imagine me trasvestied, you'd see me pop-eyed with this angel at my right ear, and a Homer Simpson-like devil next to my left ear. As you know, being a good, conscientious girl who demands high quality work for every single piece of homework (believe it or not, Ng said that in my testimonial. I'd had a really bad stomach ache after reading that, since anyone who knows me knows that I'd had 3 month late Math homework.), I'd chose to run to the sofa and exercise my bereft thumb. When I'd spinned the remote control like in James' Bond, and to my chagrin, having to bend over and pick it from the floor, the screen came to life, and lo and behold! There was a news reader there instead of Homer Simpson and his family. I guess Homer Simpson got tired of waiting for me.
And I've heard that Ms Lee's left the school. It's sad, since ex-N* girls can't stand present ones. I know that I am seriously stereotyping here, but I myself haven't been the best to Ms Lee, and somewhere deep down in my intestines, there is a good part of me (that's been covered in bile already anyway) that has been squirming with guilt. I've mentioned that I've actually had 3 month late Math homework... It was worksheet 3.3 if I am not mistaken. Ms Lee was really patient, but unfortunately, me being such a numb-skull and insensitive insane idiot, I did not realise it till it was too late. And I'd only handed the worksheet in because I did not want Mdm Mak or any of the management to call me to the gallows through the PA system due to my worksheet-bereft Math file. I'd done that for Science too, and to my amazement, I'd got an A-...
Wonder what would happen if Ng left. I'm sure Claire would snuggle up to her darling and sob all over her. Haha!
I'd better run off before Claire attempts murder...
10:05 PM