Disclaimer
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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Chat area


 Saturday, January 28, 2006

Every year since we were little kids, our parents would slip us little red packets with an occassional festive greeting in gold re-fracting on the surface of smooth, velvety crimson. Ever wondered why they do so?

It's probably a 'salary' for exploiting us on the eve of Chinese New Year. My parents took this perfect opportunity to boss me around the house, from beating the carpet to taking freshly ironed clothes upstairs to deliver them to the respective owners' wardrobes. My brother was intelligent enough to escape early in the morning, but alas for me, my friend and I cancelled our 'outing' to the arcade due to another friend being unable to go, and myself being broke, despite the urgent need to get fresh additions to my already groaning bookshelf.

I am officially virtually suing my parents for exploitation and child abuse! And I'm suing the many mosquitoes in my house for the damage they did to my skin. Apparently, the mosquitoes thought it great to have a full blown reunion dinner with my blood, and attacked practically every bit of exposed flesh (which is quite a lot, since I had to wear shorts to avoid being drenched when helping dad expel dirt from the floor) that hadn't already been previously attacked and scarred by their fellow comrades. We ought to teach the mosquitoes how to ration their food.

And my dad just blasted some of those melody denied festive New Year songs into my ears. He's arguing that he didn't know that it would turn out that loud. More like he thought I was visually oriented, a.k.a deaf due to the fact that I keep ignoring the many commands my mom, gran and him have been dishing out to me. Maybe I'm just cyclically challenge (having PMS).

Ah well. Blame it on the domestic engineers in my home who are too selectively perceptive (aka insane). And it doesn't help with them complaining that my room was too closure prohibitive. I'm feeling energy deprived now due to forced hard labour community service I've just completed. Shall go off now.

6:43 PM