Q

Took the day off to rest.

It was an invigorating day reducing the self into a sitcom-watching, eating, napping non-contributor to Lee’s social state. And a well-deserved one too – at least according to my yardstick for what over-worked is. After tearful days of trying to meet the mentorship deadline (and failing rather miserably), chionging for Oral Presentation, the actual presentation, followed by 5 hours of training, I was ready to kill any bitch standing between my bed and I.

So I ate six dumplings and cheese fries and promptly fell asleep in front of the telly.

And then woke up mid-day, ate, watched the telly (sometimes concurrently), and then fell dead to the world after awhile. It’s like I’m on life support and it’s of such very shoddy quality I’m unable to sustain past 2 hours of Cougar Town.

The only thing that managed to dupe me out of my stupor was the redolence of dinner.

In retrospect I really do sound (at least in cyberspace) like a morbidly obese unemployed American man who eats off the can, steals his neighbor’s cable, and whose greatest achievement is getting a 12 year old online to believe he’s George Clooney. Offense to Americans fully intended.

But I’m not that. I’m just a wasting teenager who believes for this to be appropriate preparation for facilitating a three day camp. After which I will be COMPLETELY FREE. Except of course there’s the whole A LEVEL EXAMINATION NEXT YEAR shizz. I’ll be spiraling into impending madness soon TQVM. Watch me stay alive.

ALSO, WHAT IS WITH TUMBLR?

I don’t get why it’s even a blog? Is it a representation of how degenerate the human capability to produce original statements has become? Because, idk, this whole REBLOGGING shit? You’re essentially just regurgitating pretty stuff you like online. That’s kind of like cheating, and discouraging self creation. It’s appalling and yes I’m looking straight at you Sim Xin Yi.

I’d rather have just one incoherent misspelled post from you then five hundred reblogs of Ron Weasley angst and/or whimsical photos of girls I don’t know looking spastic on a rustic sea of grass and balloons. If you know what I mean.

POST. YOU ARE BETTER THAN THAT BETCH.