Well, this is awkward

So I really want to talk to you, right, but I never see you on anything apart from facebook. So then I log on to facebook and I keep the tab open for--- for as long as I use the computer.

I check compulsively every 10min, to see if that green dot appears next to your name in chat.

10min elapse: nup

20min later: nup

30min pass: chic who I'd much rather avoid starts spilling her life story to me, telling me about how stressed she is and how the guy she likes doesn't like her back blah blah blah. So I type the words "I'm sorry to hear that" in various forms until she finally hits me with "gtg haha"

1hr mark: nup

1hr 40min: guy who I'd rather not talk to: "yo wassup bro how is your day" etc. etc. And I'm like FUUUUUU the person I want to talk to doesn't talk to me and every other random on facebook decides to initiate a conversation. Then I reply at 2min intervals but still he persists until I give up replying altogether. 

3hr 20min: AND YOU'RE FINALLY ONLINE. I stare at that green dot next to your name for roughly 15 seconds just to confirm that I'm not hallucinating. Shit, you're online. 

Click on your name, start typing in the chat box... wait a sec, wtf do I say?

"hi how was your day"

...HMM, this sounds familiar. Oh, that guy from before who I found annoying--- that's exactly what he said to me to start the conversation. Fuck. Backspace backspace.

"hi, how was school?" Nah, that won't do, THERE IS MORE TO TALK ABOUT BETWEEN US THAN SCHOOL. I hardly know anything about what you do at school anyway, and it wouldn't make sense. More backspace.

"have you heard [band name]?" yeah okay that'll do. 

And juuuuust as I was about to hit enter, I stop myself again. I talked to you like, yesterday. And the day before. Aaaand the day before that. I've initiated the conversation every time.

NO, I WILL NOT APPEAR CLINGY OR NEEDY OR DESPERATE. Even though I am. But I will not appear like that.

Backspace again.

Wait for you to start conversation. You'd want to talk to me as well, right?

And 2min later I've run out of patience. Fuck fuck fuck, why aren't you talking to me. I'd like to think that you're going through the same thought process, and waiting for me to talk to you. Except you're not that kind of person. Goddamn.

Okay, I give up, that's it. "have you hea---"

AND YOU LOGGED OFF. YOU BITCH. WHY. FUCKING WHY.

Then I sit here clawing my hair out, lamenting my lost opportunity and reprimanding myself for my cowardice. 

Miraculously you log on again. So you'd think after what happened just then I'd learn and just hit you with "hi how are you what's your favorite color do you like spaghetti" but no, I'm fucking retarded. I sit here twiddling my thumb, repeating hypnotically, "I am not clingy needy or desperate I am not clingyneedyordesperate iamnotclingyneedyordespererate desperatedesperatedesperatedesperate..."

And you log off again. Yeah, I guess I deserved that. 

Devious Ploys

On the way home this afternoon I was casually planning an end-of-year beach trip with a friend of mine, because we both agreed it would be rather exciting to go down to the beach with a bunch of our friends instead of parents. I had so much fun at maths camp I guess I look forward to an extended version. Invite my maths teacher as well- make it maths camp ver. II. Except maybe skip out on the maths this time...

So we were counting off the no. of people we could take, and how many of our friends would like to come. Then the name of the person I may-or-may-not have a crush on came up inevitably, and I thought to myself, hey, wouldn't this be the best opportunity. Not that it's likely this whole beach-trip thing would happen, but if it were to happen and they could come along, man I'd create soooo many opportunities for myself.

My friend, being the great wing-man (or rather, wing-woman?) she is, came up with great plans.
1. Have the entire group go out for a walk at sunset or something, and make everyone else walk super-fast and leave me alone with a certain someone *cough*. Naturally that certain someone will try to catch up to the rest of the group, and since they are undoubtedly my athletic superior in every aspect, I'm kinda screwed. It was at this point that my friend inserted her suggestion: "this is where you trip over while ***** tries to catch up, then you call out and ***** will be forced to stay behind." Aw man, I should've thought of that one: it's like the no.1 cliched scene from all those crappy Asian dramas I wasted my life watching.

Crap, I just admitted to watching Asian dramas. That makes me kind of a pansy, doesn't it? Maybe you should erase that from your minds.

But seriously.

TURN BACK BIATCH AND CATCH ME BEFORE I FALL

I'm going to trip, right, and when ***** turns back for me, I'm gonna be all like "OW I FELL AND I'VE GOT INTERNAL HEMORRHAGING YOU'RE GONNA HAVE TO CARRY ME ON YOUR BACK FOR THE REST OF THE WAY" Now the plan may fail due to my ever-increasing weight, but eh, worth a shot. Or I can say something like, "IT'S BEEN SCIENTIFICALLY PROVEN THAT HOLDING HANDS WILL CURE ANY AILMENT I HAVE FROM TRIPPING OVER NOTHING."

So, continuing on:
2. Move all the luggage belonging to that "someone" next to my bed, so they take the bed adjacent to mine. Somehow shift seats so that we are seated together at every occasion. Sure it'd get sus eventually, but it'd at least take a while for anyone to notice. I can be subtle, I swear~

As for 3... well, I don't have a 3... YET. I'll get there, if this beach trip comes to actualization.

Killing Spiders

Now I finally understand why killing is sinful. There is a strange pleasure derived from killing; the pleasure of mastery over another being's life. I guess that's a bullshitty way of saying "I got kicks from spraying spiders which live in my window." Using the bottle of insect killer my roommate got me yesterday, I ventured out in the afternoon and sprayed the shit out of my window. I reckon I used at least half a bottle. I stared in awe as a wave of spiders rushed out from the cracks of my window... I was not aware that there had been so many...

...Then I backed away in confusion... I thought the insect spray was meant to kill all the spiders, not have them all rush out from the crevices of my window. It took several seconds, before I noticed how the spiders withered before me, shrinking as they wrapped their legs around their bodies... A few of those spiders looked rather fat. I wonder whether it was about to spawn more spiders before I killed it.

Mum, seeing that I had been spraying my window, commented on how it was entirely my fault that the spiders decided to nest there. After all, if I weren't such a lazy fucker and cleaned my window regularly, it wouldn't be spider infested. I wonder, has she ever thought about HOW I WAS GOING TO CLEAN BETWEEN MY WINDOW. I couldn't remove the netted layer, so the only way was to open the glass layer from inside. Then what, watch the spawn of spiders scuttle into my room? Mum's response to that was "so what? Just kill them all." I don't know why she doesn't understand that I'm scared of spiders. She's terrified of snakes--- enough for it to be a phobia, I'm sure. I remember the time I had a rubber snake in my pocket, and she pulled it out and screamed like there was no tomorrow. For the rest of that day I had to listen to words along the lines of "how could you do this to your poor mother" etc. etc. I'd like to see her reaction, if snakes decided to live under her bed or something. Maybe then I can comment on her laziness, for not cleaning out the snakes under her bed so they spawned more.

Despite the 7 visible dead spiders stuck on various places on my window, I'm still not convinced that they're all dead. After all, I thought there might've been 3, except there was more than double that. I might wait a few days, then spray again. Though the spiders are dead, their bodies are still trapped in between my window... and it's quite disgusting. I should probably clean that out.

I really do hate spiders.

Illness

So yesterday I was coughing up my soul and sniffling every 20 seconds. It was as if there was a small flame down the bottom of my throat--- the pain was not great, but it was always present, and it scorched me every waking minute. Every time I drank water it was like drinking gasoline--- the small flame turned into a sky-high bonfire and I felt myself being engulfed.

Dad was still away on his business trip, but Mum was home. Let's just say that she was not very sympathetic. "IT'S BECAUSE YOU WENT TO BADMINTON LAST NIGHT SEE HOW MUCH WORSE YOU'VE GOTTEN" When she came home I told her I was skipping dinner so I could rest a bit, and she replied with "EAT YOUR DINNER WHY WOULD YOU SKIP YOUR DINNER STOP ACTING LIKE YOUR BROTHER AND EAT PROPERLY"

...What I don't understand is why she gets so worked up over one lousy meal. I wasn't going to die from it.

Of course I ignored her and went to bed anyway, because fuck it. I was sick, tired and all I can hear is the drumming inside my head. I had fallen into deep sleep, but when dinner came, SHE WOKE ME AND DRAGGED ME OUT TO DINNER. ...I had never been more resentful towards anyone who wanted to feed me. As I ate I thought bitterly: I hope you all get infected, then you can feel my pain. I think it would have been obvious enough that I was pissed, and as I sat there, half awake, eating dinner, Mum decides to take the word "oblivious" to a new level, and asks me how dinner tasted. Then she brags about how she added cream to the eggs, and how it tasted so much better. I replied that I couldn't taste a single fucking thing, because my throat burned, my nose was blocked and eating was torture. She glared at me, and I knew I must have been wearing that "disrespectful and ungrateful" expression of mine again.

After dinner, she asks me whether I've been taking my medicine. It turns out that there was still a bottle of pills left in the house that Dad didn't take with him. I SUSPECT IT'S BECAUSE IT'S EXPIRED. So I tell Mum, and she gives me this look of shock: "REALLY? IT'S EXPIRED? NO WAY."
"Yeah, its expiry date was in July, and it is now August."
"OH ONLY ONE MONTH, THAT'S NOTHING."

...And I knew she expected me to take some before I went back to bed... but I walked off. Luckily for me my roommate was there to save me and provided me with his cold medicine. "Don't worry," he said, "these are definitely not expired." ...From that I knew he was laughing at Mum's ignorance... but eh, as if my family hadn't embarrassed themselves in front of him enough times already.

So I take the medicine, sleep for like 15 hours... and I feel much better already. At least someone in this house cares for my illness beyond complaining how I had exacerbated it by playing badminton, and trying to cure me with expired medicine. My throat still burns, but it's milder, and at the very least my headache is gone. Well, it's a sunny day outside, and that can only signify a better day.

...Except Dad is back. *sigh*

Why I should just fucking marry my roommate

So recently I've come to realize that I may find someone attractive enough to ask them out--- but just then I had another realization: I should just marry my roommate instead. I know this seems kind of strange, and he's far from perfect, but holy fucking shit he makes up for every single flaw of mine.

1. He cooks. Yeah, he made fried rice for lunch today, which I took to school. It tasted delicious. He fucking cooks, and it tastes good.
2. He cleans. His room is like as tidy as a... tidy room, I guess. Unlike mine, it doesn't have loose sheets of paper flying across of floor, the table isn't covered in 3cm of dust... and his clothes are folded neatly inside his wardrobe. As for my clothes... well they're spread across the bed and I have no idea whether they're dirty of clean. I just throw everything into the wash at the end of the week, to be on the safe side.
3. He helps me with maths. Not that I'm horrible at maths, but I certainly lack the motivation to do as well as I'd like to. He works ahead, writes up a thick book of solutions and hands them to me. I doubt I can find another roommate who is willing to do that for me... or rather, has the ability to do so for me.
4. And and and get this, this is the MOST PERFECT ASPECT ABOUT HIS CHARACTER, IT OUTWEIGHS EVERY SINGLE FUCKING OTHER THING ON THIS LIST: he bought me a bottle of insect killer. HOLY FUCKING SHIT. After hearing that I've been plagued by the spiders nesting at my window (I only told him today), he went out, just then, braving the cold and rain, to buy me a bottle of insect killer. Guys, this is the most fucking touching moment of my entire life.

I may or may not be over-romanticizing a little here. Then he mentioned how he was going to get me another lid for the light in my room, because I told him once upon a time how I hated white light, and wanted a yellow glow. He got a chair, climbed up to the lights, but sadly couldn't find a way to safely remove the lid, else I probably would have a yellow light by now. Fair enough that he didn't want to risk infuriating my parents by breaking the lights.

So yes, it appears that all that anyone needs to gain my fancy is to... buy me a bottle of insect killer.

P.S. He just came into my room with a cup of hot milk tea. I should start planning our wedding.

Cough and Splutter

The human body is truly remarkable--- remarkably disgusting, that is. I haven't been sick for roughly 1/2 a year, and I've already forgotten how painful it was. I was about to congratulate myself on how I had almost lasted the entire winter without catching cold, but nooooo, I'm at home, drinking something like 250mL of water every hour, because my throat hurts that bad. I've almost forgotten how painful it feels to be afflicted by sickness... and I did not want to be reminded, either.

My one consolation is "at least I don't have to go to school", but I'd rather go to school than to be sick at home.  I've been lying around in bed for most of the day, croaking that "I'm dying" like a patient with terminal cancer. Then I finally got out and went to badminton, and I was convinced for a while that exercise will lead to swift recovery (not sure it has any scientific basis though). Well, whether it's superstition or just urban legend, I wasn't unwilling to try, considering how I'd been rotting in bed for most of the day.

Now I'm back, and I can only say I feel a fuckload worse. My throat still burns, but to top it all off, my nose started running like a broken tap. Dad went away on a business trip, and I would be ecstatic (I guess I am), except he took the entire cabinet of cold medicine with him. Apparently before he left he felt that he was catching cold, but what I don't understand is why he took all the cold medicine in the house. Goddammit.

I'd love to take another day off school tomorrow, in fact I probably need it more than I did today. Too bad I have legitimate classes tomorrow... Guess I'll just have to tough it out.

...Why isn't there a cure for the common cold? I'm so sick I almost wrote "why isn't there a cold for the common cure?"

Hot doctors. That's the cure.

More Reason to Hate Winter

My throat hurts--- and before you say it, no, it's not from giving out blowjobs. I'm sick, goddammit. Have a little sympathy. It won't be long before my head starts aching and I feel like I'd rather be dead. I hope it is just a common cold, if I start burning a fever it will probably take longer to recover. Considering how my exams are in a week, and I have a shit-tonne of things to revise for, I'm panicking a little right now.

My current plan is to skip school tomorrow. I don't know why I'm not in bed already--- shows my dedication to this blog... or rather, it shows my need to bitch to somebody about how sick I am right now. It escalated in one day, I swear. I was fine this morning, then in the afternoon my throat was on fire. I swear by Friday, when I'll have to go to school for maths, I'll be lugging around a box of tissues.

Also, before you think it, I need tissues because I need something to cough into, not because I fap more when I catch cold. Goddammit guys, stop thinking dirty thoughts.

Gaaah. Conception of Self-Induced Embarrassment.

The awkward moment when, as you think of asking someone out, you also think about how to react when they reject you. I feel as if I can anticipate every form of rejection, and I can imagine how awkward it would be if I was completely shut down.

"Hey, I like you. Do you want to go out with me?"

Possible responses:

1. You're joking, right? That's not very funny.

2. Well this is awkward.

3. I'm not ready for a relationship.

4. You're not my cup of tea.

5. Uh... I'm uh... not good enough for you... yeeah.

6. What the hell?

7. No.

8. Uh... I'm already taken.

9. Sorry.

10. But I only like you as a friend (fucking friendzoned)

The worst and most likely is probably 11, "I'll think about it." Like, usually you'd take that as a favorable response, because at least they're considering it, right? Noooo, given that it's me, they'll probably be thinking about how to reject me in a nicer way, and the next day I'm going to receive one of the 10 responses above.

What can I say, to make the situation any better? Not much, really. 

1. No, I'm dead serious. I actually like you.

2. It won't be awkward if you say yes.

3. Babe, we are closer than just "relationship"

4. Well I'm actually coffee. Try me.

5. But I'm good enough for you.

6. I'll take that as a yes.

7. That's still a yes!

8. Yeah, TAKEN  BY ME!

9. Don't be sorry that you love me.

10. ...Yeah, I don't know to respond to this one. I'd probably flip a table if I got friendzoned.

As for 11? Well, idk. I could continue my harassment: "say yes, say yes, SAY YES BIATCH." But then I'd become one of those really annoying people which I hate. Like, they say perseverance is the key, but I'd hate to be a pain in the ass. My odds of acceptance aren't very favorable. 

Why do I go to so much trouble just to be completely rejected then? Well, because I'm 18, and I'm determined to do something regrettable, embarrassing and stupid before I leave college. I mean, you're only 18 once in your life, and if I get shut down that bad... well at least I can say I tried. 

I need to get away

I keep on telling myself, and telling you, that I need to leave this place, that I need a holiday. Yet there's not much I can do about it, at the moment. I'm doing what I can to study, and achieve the grades that I want. If I can get myself into uni, I'll be okay from there on. Finding a job may be challenging, but right now no challenges matches to that of coexisting with my parents.

You know, home is meant to be a place where you can relax, enjoy the company of family and be understood and tolerated. Not in my house. I'd almost rather be anywhere else. I'd prefer the cold politeness of a stranger than the hostile familiarity my parents offer me. Almost as soon as I got home today, my Mother started an argument with me. She wanted to use my phone to call someone, and I let her do that. I took her to the keypad, she then pressed something, messed up, and started pressing random buttons. Then she was all frantic, "WHAT DO I DO TO GET BACK? I JUST PRESSED SOMETHING AND NOW I'M AT THIS SCREEN." Fuck, I hate it when people panic. Like, as if it's not annoying enough that you messed up, now you're panicking. I took the phone off her and got her back to where she wanted, saying, "If you don't know how to use it, don't just press random buttons..."

Then she went off at me, because I said that. Though I guess I can understand why she was so angry, I still think it was uncalled for. She snatched the phone away from my hands, and said "I'LL JUST THROW THIS THING AWAY THEN." Naturally I was all like "wtf?" Then I told her to stop being so worked up and unreasonable. Maybe I shouldn't have said that, but it made her more mad. Apparently when she asked me to do her homework last night, I appeared bored and exasperated. And apparently just then, I had the same expression on my face, and she said it looked like I hated what I was doing.

Well, she go that right. God forgive me for not wanting to do my mother's homework when I was so tired myself. "I DON'T BELIEVE YOU'RE THAT BUSY" was all my Mother had to offer. She keeps on telling me stories about how every time she calls on her friend, she sees her friend's daughter helping her bake stuff. Now, her friend's daughter is my classmate, and she has better grades than me. That's probably why Mum doesn't believe that I'm busy. But you know what, she likes baking. So helping her mother bake is like, relieve from work for her, because at least she's doing something she likes. Though it may sound strange, I do not consider doing my Mother's homework as stress relief.

I was furious inside, when she said that she didn't believe I was that busy. Well, believe it or not, it wasn't my problem,  at least I  know how I'm feeling right now, and I understand why I'm doing everything I do. I told her she can believe what she wanted, and she stormed off in fury. Whilst I can cognitively understand why she was so upset, I really cannot sympathize. Maybe she thinks I'm treating her as an inferior being, because she's technology illiterate. I'm pretty sure she only sees it that way because she's insecure. Oh well, not much I can do about it. She's so sensitive, and sooo fucking overly-emotional. Her solution to every problem is to raise her voice and justify why it isn't her fault. Every single "discussion" I've had with her has involved her raising her voice and me eventually shutting up, because I realize resistance is futile.

I don't know why I'm having such a difficult relationship with my parents. Though I wouldn't call myself the most popular kid in school, I know that most people like me. That's testament to my social skills. Why then, do I fail at getting along with my parents? Usually at my age people grow out of their teenage rebellion. I don't feel as if I've ever lived a phase of rebellion against my parents, but I am now suffering discontent. I hate being in this house, I hate their company, I would literally rather face a brick wall.

Anywhere is better than "home".

Yet Another Weekend Cont'd

Another weekend of being harassed by my parents. Mum wanted me to drive her everywhere, and do her homework (again). Actually, her homework wasn't that bad this time. The driving part was what pissed me off. Then Dad's just being Dad. Asking for the nth time whether I've filed my university applications, whether I can get into med school, can I get into law if I can't get into med BLAH BLAH BLAH. Then he keeps on asking me when I have holidays again--- oh I actually dread the upcoming holidays. I'd hate to spend more time with my parents, or get landed with the job of babysitting my sister.

My parents complain about my baby sister so much, I don't even know why they chose to have another child. They keep on trying to tell me that I should spend more time with her, teach her things etc. etc, because she's my sister. But goddammit I wasn't the one who decided to have a kid, and I am NOT ready for the responsibility of raising her. Like, I know we're family, but I'm fucking 18 and I don't want to feel like a parent. If I lived a few centuries ago, I probably wouldn't complain (or have the chance to complain), but right now I can't even take care of myself, let alone my baby sister.

Also she is soooo fucking annoying. Cute, yes, but it reeeeally doesn't make up for how annoying she is.

Then again, maybe it's not her problem. Maybe everything is my fault, as my parents suggested. Not that it's physically my fault, but maybe it has something to do with my shitty attitude towards everyone and everything. I do fall into those moods where I find everyone irritable and I think "fuck off" is an acceptable reply to everyone who tries to talk. It's like I'm in that sort of mood, but it's... prolonged and much more... mild. Except everything gets on my nerves, and I'm jumpy at every little thing which happens.

Man, I'd hate to be around myself. Teenage dilemmas.

Driving VII

Maybe it's because I now have a license, but I started noticing how both my parents are horrible drivers. Well, I've always known Dad was shit at driving, but now Mum, too. I mean, not that I can claim to be a good driver, but at least I indicate at roundabouts and stuff. Mum doesn't seem to indicate, until she's exited the roundabout or is actually inside an intersection, and by then the point of indicating becomes moot.

So I was driving Mum all over the place on Saturday, because she wanted to buy a laptop. I don't know much about laptops, but my Mum is like, technology illiterate. Then it turns out that she only wanted a laptop from one particular store, because their advertisements claimed to have 50% discounts. That claim was fake, and after Mum discovered that she seemed to have lost all interest in purchasing laptops. What kind of person only looks in one store when they buy a laptop?

Anyway, I was going to mention how neither of us knew the way to the store. Mum had only a vague idea, and at a particular traffic light, she was still indecisive. By then I had entered a particular lane and was to go straight: the car had come to a complete halt, waiting for the light to turn green. Then Mum goes, OH TURN LEFT HERE. I glance at the slip lane to the left, and the fact that it's bounded by solid lines. I tell Mum that I can't switch lanes, because of the solid lines.

"IT'S OKAY JUST INDICATE THE CARS WILL LET YOU THROUGH"

...I don't know why I listened to her.
So I indicate, head check, yup no cars, and as I go out, this car speeds out from behind a bend, coming at least 90kmph. FFS, you'd think they'd slow for a turn. Anyway, I disregarded traffic rules, turned left, and the car continuously honked behind me. Seems as if it almost rammed into me. Oh well, still alive. Then Mum was like, "WHY DIDN'T YOU CHECK DIDN'T YOU SEE THAT CAR COMING FROM BEHIND" blah blah blah. Oh God how much I'd hated her then.

Then she did it to me again, a second time. Once again, we were at a traffic light, and the car was in a lane that was supposed to continue on straight ahead. INSIDE the intersection, Mum told me to turn right. I was that close to telling her to go fuck herself. Lesson learnt, I continued on straight, and listened to her bitch about how I "totally had time to turn" and could have just "indicated inside the intersection and turned anyway". As I did a 3 point turn later down the road, she continued to defend herself against my silent accusations. Silent. I had said jack all, but she kept on blabbering on.

Note to self: I may not be the best driver around, but I'm still better than both my parents, combined.

Driving VI

Almost killed myself right after I got my license. Maybe I should... yeah...

Being the cool kid that I am, I decided to pick up my friend from his house so that we could go to badminton. That was perhaps the worst decision I had ever made in my entire fucking life. I had only a vague idea of where his house was, and it was at night time, so the stuff I got from Google Maps was unrecognizable. To top it off, it started drizzling. Way to have my first drive. I guess this is what it means to be a teenager: you decide to drive your friend regardless. So I make it safely to his street, no problem. But my friend isn't too bright either, and he decides not to leave a light on. Now it's reallllllly fucking difficult to read street numbers when you're driving by yourself, alone, at night. So I decided to use someone's driveway  to park, since he lived on a fucking avenue and there was no room to park without blocking off the road. Then I try to leave the driveway again, and I realise I'd just parked myself on a steep slope. I reverse the car, it starts sliding, and I hit accelerator instead of the brake. Then from the mirror I see cars approaching.

...Most dangerous thing I've done in my entire fucking life.

OH I'M SORRY GUYS, JUST GIVE ME A SEC WHILE I REVERSE MY CAR----

But hey, I'm blogging again, so as you've figured out I'm still alive. No, I'm not writing from beyond the grave. Lesson learnt... think for 10min about any driving-related decisions before committing to them. Driving is dangerous and scary shit happens.

Never get in my car. Ever.

Driving V

It's finally over. No more driving lessons, no more --- actually, just no more driving lessons. I'd be naive to think that I could escape Dad complaining in the car as I drive around. I don't break early enough, I don't accelerate fast enough, I don't BLAH BLAH BLAH. Fffff. I can't even drive myself to school without him, since his workplace is near school, so I'd have to share the journey with him regardless of who drove. Either way, he wouldn't shut up.

Anyway, I had my last driving lesson today--- and it was wonderful. I guess it wasn't even a lesson anymore... we just drove around town, and then it was basically over. Was nice. When I went to get my license, I had to take another photo--- and God I look fat. I never realised I was fat until I realised my license photo looked fat. Like, I haven't put on weight since my previous license photo, but I didn't look fat in that one. Then I thought... "Oh shit. Maybe it's not the photo. Maybe I'm just fat." Worst realisation to have.

Maybe it's not the car that is too small...

I would make another diet resolution, or go and exercise or something... but I have a license... and I can drive to places... instead of walking there... Oh life is horrible. I should just bury my head in some place and cry about my self-esteem issues, and walk around complaining about how I look fat in my driver's license photo.

The pain of writing a lab report

 It's that time again... where I have to write yet another lab report. After my chemistry one, and my psychology one, I have another... chemistry one. Well, I feel sorry for the kids who take chemistry, physics and psychology... 5 lab reports to write this session. Still, I take 2/3, which is pretty bad already. It's things like lab reports which make me wish I had never taken any of these classes, ever. In fact, I get this feeling every single time I have assessment for psych. Oh my only consolation for this chemistry lab report is that it is the last one I will ever fucking do... at least for the next 2 months. Hey, 2 months of no lab report means a lot...

So lab reports aren't actually so bad, given that I've written a million previously. The only thing which kills me is helping my roommate write his, because he's horrible at English. No matter how many times I tell him to use passive past tense in his method, and to stay away from personal pronouns, there will be some line in his report saying "we add HCl to solution". When I see things like that, I'm struck by momentary confusion.
-"We added the HCl to the solution" No, that's not right, can't use "we"
-"HCl was added to the solution" Yeah, that sounds about right
*3 seconds later*
"Wait a second, but HCl wasn't added..."

"Rainbows. Fucking rainbows. That's the answer to everything"

Then my roommate goes on a tangent about how he carried out his lab report, and I never have any interest in hearing it. I sit there smiling innocently, whilst secretly thinking "fucking kill me now". Oh God, if he wasn't so nice to me, if I'm not holding his massive encyclopedia of maths solutions, I would tell him to GTFO and correct his own lab report. Every time I get the urge to do that... I'm reminded of how he does all these things to me... speaking of which, he's going to make a massive lunch for me tomorrow. Oh how could I resist. I guess it's a fair trade, food for labor.

^seems like a legit expectation

Anyways... I better get started on my own report... But I probably won't start now. Too tired now. I don't even know what I'm going to do. Wasting the rest of the night sounds extremely appealing. I'm just sayin'. Why do I even care about chemistry... the only thing appealing about it is hot guys in lab coats playing with chemicals... Oh dear God that's probably the only reason I took chemistry in the first place. Sorry to say I was severely disappointed.

^fantasy

Life is difficult.

What I'd Rather Be Doing

Writing a novel. That's what I'd rather be doing. I have so many ideas in my head, waiting to sprout into mesmerizing plots and characters. But nooo, instead I'm stuck doing calculus, which my oh-so-wonderful teacher failed to teach properly. So I spend hours in front of my maths textbook, thinking to myself, "what the fuck is going on?" Like, I love my teacher, but gawd I have no idea what he is going on about when he writes on the board. I suppose it is my own fault that I do not pay much attention... but it is difficult to do so in our class.

My urge to write increased this afternoon, when I watched two particular music videos. They were beautiful songs, and told fantastic stories. Then I thought to myself: wouldn't it be wonderful, if I could write the story down, and delve into each character with greater detail, and unravel the plot further? But such a project would probably outlast my patience, and I do not have the time to do it. As such I resort to blogging to satisfy my urge to write something--- anything.

Here are the music videos I was talking about, if you care to watch. Watch them in order, they're part of a series. I love the music--- I'll probably learn how to play it.

Why School Is Better Than Home

  When I was younger (not that I'm old now) I never thought such a day would arrive, where I would prefer being at school instead of being at home. Then again, I suppose my parents have never been as disagreeable as they are now. Not that they have done anything in particular to offend me today- well actually they didn't do anything to me at all. It's quite blissful. If only every other day were the same, I don't think I would mind--- oh right, it seems like I selectively forgot about our awkward dinner table conversations. The one which occurs everyday, regarding which university I'm going to etc., etc. I suppose I've grown so used to it, it's become almost ritualistic. Not that I'm the one who brings it up or propagates it.

See at school I have time slots where I don't have a class, and thus I have an hour to myself where I can sit in a corner and listen to music or play on my phone if it pleased me. I could choose to do my maths in peace, without fear of my sister screaming in my ears or anyone of my parents barging into my room. Yes, my friends do distract me from my work to a great extent, yet their company is never rude or unwelcome. If I set myself on doing work, they will respect that--- unlike my parents.

It's not that I enjoy going to classes in particular. Even my favorite classes, maths and English, I would gladly avoid if there were the opportunity of doing so without attracting a penalty. I'm sooo tired of school and work and the lot of stress which comes with it. But as they say, nothing's better than home, and anything is better than nothing. Therefore anything is better than home, right? NOTHING WRONG WITH MY LOGIC.

Oh man I can't wait to go on holidays. Hopefully to China end of this year. I'd prefer going to the beach, actually... which is strange given how I can't swim, but I love the cool water and I love sitting on the sand, breathing in the cool sea breeze and feeling the warm glow of the setting sun on my skin. Yes, I'm a great romantic. I do hope to find compensation in China though, where I will hopefully be given new clothes, new gaming consoles, new books and anything and everything that I want. Chinese food is delicious anyway. If it weren't winter in China and if my relatives didn't exist, I can look forward to a mighty good time. Though I suppose I can avoid the other relatives if I just stay with my brother...

ONLY ANOTHER 100 AND SOMETHING DAYS TIL GRADUATION.

The Chore of Reading

I had finally finished the last page- including even the acknowledgements of that stupid fucking book. Okay, I'm doing it injustice, True History of the Kelly Gang is literature in its own right--- but it has tortured me immensely these past two days. Given my deadline to finish reading by... well, technically, today, I have labored from wake til sleep, picking up the novel when I regain the first sliver of consciousness and burying my face in it when I collapse from exhaustion. I never knew reading could be so tiring.

The 470 something pages were thin, but they stacked up to an immense volume. It wasn't that heavy, but I was always dismayed when I flicked yet another page, as I realised I had not even read that many, and there seemed an infinite sum of pages left. Even during the climax of the story--- the robbing of Euroa bank, the siege at Glenrowan---- I know these were separate events but given the way I read them they might as well have been the same thing. The story is tangled in my head like unwound balls of wool, and I am afraid I will not remember much- if any of it, when I wake in the morning.

I would say the novel sympathizes greatly with Ned Kelly, but if the contents related in the novel is to be believed, then sympathy is well deserved. On my part, I cannot say that I liked Kelly's character- or any character within the novel. That made the task of reading all the more dreadful. The police were portrayed as a mass of corruption and greed, yet the supposedly heroic outlaws had no real character. I felt as if character development had only occurred in the second half of the novel- and by then I was far too bored to take any of it in.

Though it may be rude to speak so plainly... I do despise the entire Australian setting. I would much prefer Robin Hood over Ned Kelly, though they are rather similar. I was so sick of the mention of cattle, or how the tea were boiled in a billy can, or how a kangaroo/wallaby was skinned and roasted. Oh- and the horses- the detailed description of the appearance, movement and even temper of the horses in the novel... They might as well have been central characters. I know there is some significance to this--- the horses most likely represent freedom or the dreams of Kelly (something along those lines) but goddamn I was so fed up. Perhaps I just lack natural appreciation for good literature--- but I can tell this is good literature. It just wasn't very much to my tastes, and when it forces me to be awake at 1am, I guess I have an even greater inclination to dislike it.

I can only be thankful that this is my last session of English, and this is, hopefully, the last book I will be forced to read for the rest of college. I cannot bear to suffer another work of literature. I dread to think of university--- where I may have to experience this misery once again.

"Such is life."

Yet Another Weekend

Of course I had not done nearly as much work as I had originally intended to do. Procrastination has become such a large part of me that I simply cannot bring myself to work before anything is due. Not that I haven't been trying, but it's just not working. I was supposed to have finished this novel about Ned Kelly by tomorrow, and having done jack all last week, I was only 30 pages in by Saturday morning. I am now 300 pages further, but the book itself is roughly 470 pages long. That's what I hate about English- reading is such a torment. It's a good novel, I'll admit that- but it's not very fascinating or captivating. I could easily put down the novel and any point, without caring what happened next, and never touch it again. In fact, even as I read I feel the story going out of my head. It worries me as the exam is in something like 2 weeks, and I doubt my ability to retain details for that long.

The weekend is not only bad due to my work (or rather, lack of work), but my parents contribute to my agitation, as always. Just then at the dinner table, Dad raised the topic of my university entrance score. There's a scaling test which I'm supposed to sit in a couple of weeks, and he's totally got the wrong idea. He thinks that if our school does well, we can get extra points "added" to our entrance scores. While it is likely that our entrance scores will increase, he's totally got the wrong idea about this "adding" thing. I roll my eyes in frustration, because this topic has been raised by him for nearly the millionth time, and my Mother starts glaring at me like she knew I was about to commit a sin. I'm glad I disappointed her in that aspect. I don't know whether it's just me, but I interpret her expressions most negatively. As I rose to leave the table she called out to me to wash the dishes, because apparently I hadn't done them last night. I recall washing plenty of them for lunch, but never mind that. I wonder if she kept a tally somewhere.

I wish summer were here already. It would still be light by now. When I wake up so late in the mornings it is night only a few hours later, and I wonder whether my day has gone. I'm a very slow reader, so having to finish a book which bores me is quite a chore. The "knock before you enter" sign on my door has proven useless, my parents ignore its presence--- Dad barges in as usual and Mum knocks once then proceeds to turn the handle anyway.

...My room looks like a dump for some reason- I suppose it has been quite a while since I last cleaned it, but I do not quite understand where all this trash is coming from. I suppose a large proportion of it comes from my baby sister- she's cute and everything, but recently I've grown to dislike her. I suppose it's a phase all older siblings must pass through- but the way she constantly screams, cries and bursts into my room without warning (kinda like Dad) is wearing down my nerves.

It feels awful to wish for the abolishment of weekends altogether. I'm thinking that I would not mind if school were on endless repeat...

Driving IV

After getting my new instructor, driving has been an absolute breeze. I think I'm finally beginning to enjoy the experience, and feeling of being in control of a vehicle that can travel at 100kmph. It just feels good, when you feel yourself zooming forward with the slightest press of your foot... it's so effortless. Too bad there's so much traffic in my way. If all the other cars and obstacles on the road could disappear, that'd be nice.

So I've improved at driving. In fact, I'd go so far as to call myself a good driver. I don't do stupid shit on the road, I give way, I check for oncoming traffic etc. Too bad my Dad doesn't agree. Then again, when does he ever agree with anything I do/say? I drive to school in the mornings, and he continues to yell "BREAK" and "ACCELERATE" interchangeably. On Thursday night, on returning from badminton, he told me to speed up while I was slowing down for a roundabout. Then I was like, NO, because there's a fucking roundabout ahead and I didn't want to drift out of a tiny suburban roundabout. Then he's like, "THE CAR BEHIND YOU IS GETTING IMPATIENT."

At that point I felt like slapping him in the face. But I didn't, because I'm driving and because he's my Dad. So I thought about slapping him in my head instead. Instead I told him to stfu, because you slow down at roundabouts and quite frankly I don't give a fuck about the car behind me. After exiting the roundabout, he told me to speed up again. I had already accelerated to max. speed.

Then I had to explain to him, "50kmph in suburban areas, unless otherwise signposted. I'm already going at 50, and since I'm on a learner's license it'd be advisable NOT to speed." Then he's like, "Huh? Isn't it 60 in this stretch of the road?"

...Goddamn, I hate drivers in this area. They don't indicate, and they travel at 10kmph + whatever speed is signposted. Dad gets super-anxious when there's a large gap between me and the car in front. WELL THAT CAN'T BE HELPED IF THEY'RE SPEEDING AND I'M NOT. He's like, "WHAT IF OTHER PEOPLE OVERTAKE YOU, IT'S DANGEROUS OVERTAKING BECAUSE THESE DRIVERS DON'T INDICATE, THEY JUST CUT RIGHT IN." ...Well, I guess that's a legitimate point there, but if I wanted to keep the same distance between myself and the car in front, we'd have to travel at the same speed, which is well over the speed limit. Whenever I do that, Dad yells at me to slow the fuck down. There's just no way to do things right. In the end I chose to obey the law and travel at the speed I'm supposed to. So every morning I have a bunch of impatient drivers overtaking me, even though I'm travelling at max. legal speed. As a result, Dad yells at me every morning.

It's okay though, because he's yelling less and less at me every morning. Not because I'm improved at driving, but I've finally learned not to talk back at him when he's making stupid remarks like "ACCELERATE" on a yellow light when I can easily slow down and break. Hopefully by this time next week, I'll have a proper license--- and you know what, even at this stage, I'm quite sure that I'm a better driver than Dad already.

Titrations

I entered a titration competition on Monday. If you don't know what titration means, here's a dictionary defintion for all you losers out there:

Titration: to ascertain the quantity of a given constituent by adding a liquid reagent of known strength and measuring the volume necessary to convert the constituent to another form.

We had to titrate standardized HCl against NaOH, then use the NaOH to work out the concentration of 3 different acetic acids.You probably don't understand what I'm saying if you don't understand chemistry. Noob.

Anyway, I was part of the team competing representing the school, competing against other schools in the state. We had little time for preparation or practise: we literally signed up the day the competition was on. Then we strolled in 5min late because I insisted on eating all my food (slowly) before we went there. On arrival we saw all these private school kids in their custom-made lab coats, with their own logos and team names etc. I wore a borrowed lab coat that was splashed with colored chemicals. Shabby public school kids ftw.

...Aaaaand of course we didn't win. Don't think anyone expected it though. We made it into the finals, and I'm happy enough about that. We were quite close to the actual value... it's just that we weren't close enough. Oh well. I thought it was a game of chance, anyway. We had to use the 4th decimal place. I messed up with the phenolphthalein, and my darker solutions used less NaOH than my lighter ones.

Then the competition was finally over, and we were invited to a supper. That was like 1/2 the reason I went to the competition in the first place. Food was good, I burnt my fingers grabbing it, shoved people out of the way to reach the plate, and took like a massive handful when I got there when everyone else was taking just one piece. I guess I'm a massive scrub.

In the end the results were announced, and ironically we beat most of those fancy private schools. My team ended up outside on a court, dancing in the middle of the night and blasting shitty pop music. I think we were happy about how we didn't completely fail.

Good times.

The Olympics Which I'm Not Watching

I'm not a big fan of sport, whether it's watching people play or playing myself. I know the Olympics are on, but I actually haven't sat down and watched a single event yet. Our massive TV in the lounge is broken, and Dad is too lazy--- oh sorry, too "busy" to find the warranty paper. If I recall correctly, he paid an extra hundred to extend the warranty for an extra year when we bought the TV. Gawd.

So I guess what I'm saying is I have no idea wtf is happening in the Olympics. All my sources of news come from the internet... and I can only hope it's reliable. I read about how that Chinese girl (Shiwen Ye) smashed a record, and was accused of cheating afterwards.

...because there's a correlation between one person breaking records and another drowning

My parents were enraged, and Dad started talking about how every other race was racist, in a racist way. Oh the irony. Personally I thought it was a bit harsh to accuse her of taking drugs when there's no evidence... and saying that "she's Chinese and the Chinese use advanced drugs but they'll show up 10-20 years later"...

Man I wish there was a way for us to round up all the stupid people in this world and wipe them out. Kill it before it spawns! (Wow, I sound like Hitler)

Then there are all these people yapping on about how the Australian team was disappointing and hardly had any gold medals... Even though I understand the concept of patriotism, I still can't understand why anyone is upset over that... Sure it's like your country is losing in sport... but so what? At least we're not like, a poverty stricken 3rd world country. Eh, I'm probably missing the point. I guess it's reasonable to feel disappointment, but I still don't see the need for causing such a large commotion over it.

The worst part of the Olympic news I'm receiving? It seems that almost every place is making a meme about some Australian weightlifter who didn't shave her armpit. The meme was funny while it lasted, but then the comments disgusted me. Like, this woman made it into the Olympics, and all people care about is how she has hairy armpits. I know shaving is generally expected of females... but that's no reason to insult someone.

*sigh*

I remember being excited about the Olympics, when I was younger. Now that I've grown older... all I see is how the Olympics brings out the worst in everyone.

Maths is going to my head

Weekend of maths maths maths maths. I feel as if I'm experiencing death by slow poisoning. Like I'm swallowing 5 grams of lead every day. For a month. Except it's only been 2 days. I have immense amounts of maths homework, and yet another lab report to write for chemistry. Due to my crappy work ethic, I've finished something like 1/5 of my maths and I haven't started chemistry. This is not going to end well, is it?

Sadly, I don't feel like doing anything else except for maths. It's like I'm procrastinating with more work. Except once I decide to start working I notice how cold it is and how many distractions there are. For every maths question I do I feel like taking a break.

Let me tell you what happened the other day. It was the 2nd of August. I have a habit of dating my pages. Sometimes I date every page, sometimes I'll only date the start of the section, but there's always a way to trace the date I wrote something. So as I wrote down 2/8/12, I thought to myself, "why do I bother writing 2/8? I could've just written 1/4. Then I saw the 12 and I thought wait, I can simplify down further, 1/4/3? No, I can't divide 12 by 4 there, that's not simplifying. I should've divided it by 2 with along with the rest when I started. But why is there a stupid 12 in this fraction?" I almost never write a fraction over a fraction, because I prefer to change it into multiplication. Then it struck me. 12 stood for 2012. I was recording the fucking date. I don't need to simplify.

At that point I buried my face in my hands, wondering whether I was insane. Then about a second later I continued doing maths.

...Can I go on a real holiday already?

If I Had A Theorem

In maths the other day we were discussing what it'd be like if we could come up with our own theorem. A friend and I thought we had found a way to count regions of planar graphs when they were still in their non-planar form, but then it turned out that our conjecture worked for all of 2 cases. Oh well. However, we were not discouraged, and then we thought, what if one day, we actually came up with a legitimate theorem?

Being the humorous person I am, I thought to myself: how funny would it be, if I gave my theorem a ridiculous name that teachers would have to teach in schools? I wanted something long and stupid sounding- then I thought: what if they abbreviated it? I'll just make the abbreviation a rude word. If they use only the first word of the theorem, they'll realise that it is also a rude word. The first letter? Heh, the first letter can be F. "The F Theorem". Then I was beside myself with laughter.

Later in the day, while I was with two other friends wasting time in chemistry, I told them about my idea. They found it highly amusing, though they commented on my immaturity. I must point out, however, that the following name was a joint collaboration:
Fukyu Armadillo Rainforest Kryptonite Theorem.


It was lucky that the noise of the chemistry lab drowned out the sounds of our laughter.

Then I recommended a more subtle name, as I am sure the Fukyu Armadillo Rainforest Kryptonite theorem would cause some controversy. Being the witty person I am, I said, "why don't we cut it down to one word? We'll call it... "Far-Q" It was a brilliant name, as we soon realised that everything, when renamed "Far-Q" became immensely more entertaining.

I spoke of my dream of becoming an entrepreneur, and I will be the president of Far-Q Enterprises. Maybe I'll go into pharmaceutical research, and sell Far-Q Pills. Then one day, when I take over the world---The United Nations of Far-Q. Maybe I'll start my own online-dating service, with the slogan "Far-Q, and only you." Maybe I'll be a jeweler- "Diamonds Are Forever"? Please, "Far-Q Forever". Or one day, when I receive a Nobel Prize for discovering the strand of molecules which cures cancer--- I'll name it "Far-Q". Though admittedly it'd be more ironic if it cured AIDS. Oooh, there's another one- "Far-Q Contraceptives". My friends, being the wonderful friends they are, soon joined me. "Planet Far-Q", "The Far-Q Galaxy"--- there was also the suggestion of creating a computer virus and naming it "Far-Q" "The University of Far-Q", located in the country of Far-Q. "Far-Q Funeral Services"


Maaaan, the list goes on and on. So many ideas, so many possibilities. All of them so very entertaining. If this is being immature- well I hope I never "grow up".

University Appications

The university admissions guide was handed out today- I flipped through it in the morning, looking at the courses I might be interested in. It gave me great satisfaction, seeing how my entrance score qualified me for the vast majority of the courses. I could literally pick and choose whatever the fuck I wanted. So I was pretty happy, and I checked out course descriptions, prerequisites, additional requirements etc., etc.

Then I came home and tossed the guide to my Dad. To nobody's surprise he was too lazy to look through it himself, and instead asked me whether I qualified for medicine. 

"Uh yeah... I've met the lower limit for med in every uni except for X"

Then Dad raged. The way my grandmother would if I ever said anything vaguely critical regarding communism and Mao. Then came the interrogation. What happened wtf did you do is there a chance of recovery how come you can't get into med now I thought you said you were okay before blah blah blah.

...I wish he actually listened to what I said. The only course which I didn't qualify for was a double degree of med + whatever else they offered. You need an entrance score of 99.95 to be considered. I'm... not going to get there. I'll be lucky if I hit 99. However, I can apply for med in every other university except for that one. Come on, there is more than one med school in this country. FFS.

Then at dinner he rewrote his fantasy for my future, now that he believes med is no longer an option. He reckons a double degree in law and accounting/economics/finance sounds good. I personally dislike accounting/economics/finance, though all 3 seem like they'd make good money. As for law... I'm unsure whether I like law itself or whether I like the prestige associated with becoming a lawyer. 

I wish I could be an author or an artist. I'd love to write all day, or draw all day.