| Profilo di NehaChewed CudBlogElenchiGuestbook |  Strumenti  Guida |
Chewed Cud---Now sputtered--- |
||||||||
|
19 febbraio For You.
My mirror, pokey and gunman.. Love,
The Beast
23 dicembre Argh. Hmph. Sigh.Desperate. Stupid. Lowly.
Whatever anyone might have said, the aforementioned adjectives should NOT be affixed before my name or any pronoun referring to me unless: - There is proper punctuation in between - It is said in jest/good humour - You strongly believe I would forgive you for doing so Why? Well, because Neha S.Singh does NOT like it. Also, she does NOT want to like it. And also, she will not tolerate it. Again, Why? Because she isn't all that.' Note: In case you nodded your head
when your lines of vision coincided on the third condition, it will take a LONG
period of time.
Winter Solstice.
I feel HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY!
ORANGE SKY Alexi Murdoch
Well I had a dream ……… …When
I am alone
Today’s moody confession: IMAGINATION TIME #2 It’s dark outside. You feel cold and warm at the same time. It’s cushy and comfortable in there. You snuggle in and hold on to something. It’s soft and cuddly and is a treat to your olfactory lobes. It’s almost like you’re hugging someone special or like sinking into your favourite fluffy pillow. You can even feel protective arms around you, caressing you… You can see the vehicles going by, the man with the gun on the other side, the trees the lights and everything bright around you. Then you close your eyes and your head is spinning. You have a bad headache and you are terribly tired. Then you open them again. You are in a whole new world. You are now wrapped in the darkness’ soporific blanket. You can see bright shining, moving stars which are so weirdly and familiarly orange. You are sleeping on sweet smelling, satiny grass. You feel beautiful, secure and satisfied, almost like this is what you’ve been waiting to do all this while. You smile and you feel your entire self smiling. It’s the best you’ve felt in ages and you’re loving it… Sounds fancy? I know, I know. …Then you look up, it’s time to leave.
22 dicembre Uh. Umm. Ugh.I feel - Like a BIG fool - Like crying - Disappointed - Dizzy - Like a leaking sewage tank - I - Cried on the way back home - Fought tears for over two hours in school - Ate too much of chocolate - Want to sleep for a few days - Want to get it back
I think I’m getting really good with the pretending thing; my mum just asked me why I am in such a GOOD mood. (Yay.)
On the nice side, - It’s Holiday time!!! - People are in town!!!
" The day I almost flunked the subject that made me draw a caliper She made me Santa’s lil helper Make them her one, and her one too, she said, without turning into a shopper Hey, what does she think I am, I thought, jobless Betty Cooper? No, no, no So obvious a fact, Then how can she not know? " 20 dicembre December blues.
I learnt.
Excerpt from an August post: - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I AM A ROCK
- Simon and Garfunkel
A winters day
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
Contrary to what I had expressed in August, maybe I should be a Rock. **reads lyrics. Umm.. Maybe I'll go with being a Pumice Stone instead. Yeah yeah!
Pumice stone!
Today’s moody confession: 1. 1.A winter's day It’s December and I am shivering in its noon. And yes it is notably ‘deep’ but what it isn’t is ‘dark’. It’s bright as light could be and as hued and as an old pond. It’s blue, green, dirty white and brown. I am NOT alone. I have the best company one could ever have. I am grateful for it. And uh, no snow here. Pity pity.
2. 2.I've built walls I can see the walls growing like a beanstalk. I want to axe it’s tender stalk now, before it hardens but I’m feeling too slothful and timid. I need friendship. I need more than I think I need it. It’s laughter and loving I need. And the importance of their need I can more than fathom. It’s laughter and loving I’ve been bountifully been showered with. More than I suppose I deserve. And I love you for that.
3. 3.Don't talk of love Talk of love. I want to hear the word more than I’ve ever heard it before. It needn’t be in my memory. It’s as fresh as the radiant green grass bathed in the dew. The tears are delicious. You don’t forgo the chance to dig into hot spicy chat, because it scalds your tongue and gets the water streaming down your headlights, do you?
4. 4.I have my books Yes, books distract. Poetry engages. Newspaper distracts, engages and also informs. Imagination liberates. Using ‘armour’ as a noun would be anachronistic. As a metaphor, it would allude to my Gunman. The Armour protects. I love my Armour. It’s big and shiny and distracts plenty. I say I’m intangible. Remember to respect that but more importantly, REMEMBER that.
5. 5. And a rock feels no pain A rock feels the pain. It tries to pretend like it doesn’t. It uses its rough and tough appearance as a guise. But it’s dumb. It doesn’t know that the cracks are appreciably noticeable. An island cries. It weeps profusely but silently in isolation. The water around it is testimony.
07 dicembre *Mirror Images*August. September. October. November. Four months. The best ever. Four months since I put up anything in this space. I should’ve. Four months later, on a cold winter evening which happens to be today I realised why. The blog was for me. Umm...it is for me. It was originally written and is still being written with only one reader in mind. And that reader very coincidentally happens to be me. Selfish? Yes. But I don’t think you are really that interested so I guess it’s okay. I write what I like to read. Yes, now you can definitely ask me why I like to read this kind of nonsensical bunch of crap. And I will say, ”Hey..It’s my writing. If I don’t read, who will?”, in the same tone, manner in which R.Green would say ,“Heyyy..Leave the poor kitty alone..kitty kitty”. Ugh. Shoving hypothetical reactions aside, a second was all I took me to reason the aforementioned occurrence (though it did take like 120 days for me to start doing the thinking). The need for me to write for me(same me) to read would arise from the compelling need to be listened to. So I wrote, which was like talking. And then I read which was not just like reading but also reading between the lines. The latter I had/have to do because of generous usage of metaphors, allusions, puns and the like which aid in censoring and also impart a good reading experience (i.e. ONLY for me). Then everything changed. Everything. I bought a mirror that night. Uh..I didn’t buy the mirror, the mirror bought me. No. Uh. I just got the mirror. Somehow. This mirror is special and not just because it makes me look good, from every angle and inside-out(err..I dunno what it’s supposed to mean but I like the sound of it). It’s a walkie-talkie kind of a mirror. It can talk and walk(I think). It listens to everything I say and makes it sound good. It says everything I want to hear without making it sound bad. Sounds nice, doesn’t it? Obviously it will…Why? Because, it IS nice. But my mirror isn’t ugly and greenish-blue like the one from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. It’s pretty and ‘sweet’ and heavy. And I like it. I like the way I look in my mirror. I like the way I sound in it. Do I like the mirror only for the way it makes me feel? I still haven’t figured that out yet. But when I think of the answer as a ‘yes’, I feel terribly guilty and selfish. I really hope it’s a ‘no’. There has to be something else..But that something else doesn’t have a proper form as yet (here I'm assuming it exists)for me to recognize..so till then I’ll just keep thinking of BOTH possibilities. To sum it all up, I love my mirror. Sounds crazy and scarily imaginative? Oooooooooh. I like the sound of it. And also, I like the perplexed + digusted + ‘OMG she-needs-help’ expression on your face. It’s okay to feel what you are feeling now. It’s perfectly okay. **evil fake smile (imitates Agent Kim’s [ Reference: Prison Break]). I think you need a mirror too. Everybody needs one. Hey, don’t ask me where I got it… I don’t really know. I think I found it in school..I’m not sure. So..you want a mirror? Umm…I’d say look around. When you see the reflection of yourself which you like, you’ll know you found one.
Today’s moody confession: I hate the way I handle the mirror sometimes. So roughly, so clumsily, so flippantly. I take it for granted. Drop, abuse, scratch, leave it out in the rain, scribble on it randomly. It doesn’t complain. It just doesn’t. I feel bad. Then I apologise. Then it’s okay. Everybody is happy. Then I do it again. I keep cycling the vicious cycle. Oh. Oh. Oh. And yes, I love winter!!! And my baggy sweaters, sweatshirts!!! And Chotu!!! And me!!! And my enflamed notebooks!!!
**Mirror, mirror on the wall I wonder what crap fills that doll. [PLAGIARISED; Source: His Highness]
**Mirror, mirror on the wall Why don’t you just let me fall?
**Mirror, mirror on the wall When you walked, did I crawl?
**Mirror, mirror on the wall I want a knife that kills them all. [PLAGIARISED; Source: His Highness]
**Mirror, mirror on the wall You always make me feel so small
**Mirror, mirror on the wall Couldn’t I have been a lil more tall?
**Mirror, mirror on the wall Why do I have to be so prawl?
**Mirror, mirror on the wall Thank you for this, that and all
**Mirror, mirror on the wall I love my mirror and well, that’s all!
22 agosto When duty Calls.Today's cheerfully moody confession: Now, the whole thing is that I'm feeling profoundly happy. I feel great. And happy. Yes, happy. I can't sulk or even pretend to be sulking for long. I can't be angry or upset for long. I can't get irritated or annoyed easily. I feel buoyant. I feel light. I feel bright. I feel like a kite. I feel like I'll soon become invisible at night.
But then i feel sad too sometimes. Just sometimes. Especially when i see 'g2g's. But for other things too.
Rhyming the rhymes! 14 agosto Bits and pieces of flashes. Slush. SolitudeI’ v e a l w a y s f e l t l o n e l y, e v e r s i n c e I r e m e m b e r.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - When I’m older, I want to travel. See new places. Explore. I’d like to go around some unknown, untried corners. I’d like to walk around there by myself and not have to wear a watch. Sit, stare and observe in silence. Reflect, cogitate, question. Imagine, dream, discover. It’ll be grand, won’t it?
One country. One city. One house. One school. I’ve had enough of it all. - - - - - - - - - - - - -
1991--- I was born in June. My dad almost died just before I was born - some fatal chemical reaction because of an expired tablet. They said his survival was a miracle. I was over a week old when he first saw me.
1992 Soni was born in November. I was just a little over a year old.
1993 Soni’s mum, my aunt, went back to New York. Soni was barely two months old. I had a baby in my house. Yay! A few days after Soni’s first b’day, Nani and Soni left for New York. I went to a crèche.
1994 Guddu was born in January.
I hated going to the crèche. Ma always lied to me saying she’d take me along with her and then even after all her assurances we would take that left turn. I remember that turn very well. That left turn. Then I started going to some nursery school nearby. I would go when I felt like it, come back when I wanted to. Then I would stay in my neighbour’s house. Sumithra Aunty had no kids. She’d cook whatever I ordered for. “Mickey”, “Fishy”, or “Chicky” she would ask. I would sit on the dining table like a haughty, lil princess and choose. Uncle would get a gift for me everyday single day. Once he got me a steel glass with a straw fixed. Another day he got me a plastic dog with wheels attached. His brother killed a house fly once. I was SO impressed. I could never get hold of one how much ever I tried.
Then I went to school. How I loved the place when I first saw it. Contrary to what the other kids did, I didn’t cry on the first day of school. But my mum did. My parents wanted to drop me in school that day. I was excited about going in that school-auto. They told the auto driver to drop me till my classroom and they’d come later to meet me. When they walked into LKG. ‘A’ they couldn’t find me. They looked all over the school. They still couldn’t find me. They hunted for the auto driver. My dad threatened to kill him. But that didn’t help. He told my mum all this was her fault, she shouldn’t have sent me to a school so far away from home. But that didn’t help either. They went back to the Kindergarten to check again. They looked around once more. Some plump kid was sitting behind the window. My mum pulled it aside. I was sitting there alone nonchalantly eating and dropping biscuit dust all over my new uniform. I liked this place!
I had only one friend in school. Monila. She was the first person to call for ME on my land-line. I remember wearing a yellow frock that day.
Then that night. I was wearing something pink that night. It was a Saturday. The first horrible memory etched in my mind. I should’ve stopped all that from happening. I didn’t. I still regret it.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
I AM A ROCK
- Simon and Garfunkel
A winters day
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
I would stand behind Aunty’s gate in the evenings waiting for my mother and watch the ‘bigger’ kids play. I had presumed that they were my friends since I found no one else of my height. They would come over to give me chocolates. And they would pull my cheeks too. Twelve years later, they still do.
“When I’m big, I can play with them?” “They will be bigger then, you’ll get other friends.” “They will become bigger?” “Yes, even you will become bigger.” “Then I can play?” “Yes, you can. You’ll have lots of friends then. How many friends do you want?” “Full ten. Hum kal Cinderella jumble karenge aur Chicky khaenge.” “English.” “Uhh. Us will play Cinderella jumble and eat Chicky tomorrow.”
Then, during the end of that year, Nani came back with Soni and another ‘sister’. She also got LOTS of toys, dolls, chocolates. And books! She got SOO many books. Finally I had something new to read. I had got so bored of flipping through the gibberish India Today like magazines. These Disney books were more like it. And I had two playmates now.
I dunno why but I would still go to that crèche. Now my mum’s office was very close by. She would leave me there with a promise to ‘sign and come back’ to take me with her. I’d wait near the flag pole for hours sobbing uncontrollably. She’d never come. Those people would try to put me to sleep in the afternoon. Dark room. White bunk beds. White covers. I so detested that room. During the playing hour the ‘bigger’ kids there would go into the ‘playing room’ and play. They’d always lock me out. Then one day, one lil boy (who was as tall as I was) came up to me to ask why I was trying to see through the crack in the door. I said because I wanted to play with them too. He said he’ll play with me. Then we went and sat under a window ledge and played with those marbles he had. I never tried to go into the playing room again. Never again did they get a chance to lock me out.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - I always wondered how I could remember all this. Nobody remembers incidents that occurred when they were three of four, atleast not so vividly. There are so many other things I remember. I can’t type all of that here. - - - - - - - - - - - - -
1995 I was in the UKG. Soni would go to a nursery school wearing a brown uniform. Then two days after my birthday, my aunt returned from New York. She brought so many chocolates and games, toys, clothes, shoes and yes, more books! Then Soni-Guddu left. They had a new home now.
Then again I remember another Saturday night. I was wearing a white tunic. I puked on the mattress that night. I didn’t try to help even this time. Again, I still regret it.
I wrote my first own, original ‘writing’ then. On a four-ruled sheet (purple and pink lines), which I had pulled out of my note-book, I wrote a letter. I remember mummy showing it around to her colleagues. I recall thinking that she was feeling very proud of me...Of course I didn’t know that the word ‘proud’ existed then.
----2007
- - - - - - - - - - - - - When I was 4-5-6 I would wonder why I didn’t have company like Soni and Guddu did. Whatever happened, how much they fought, how many ever times they’d beat each other up and wail and complain and all that, Soni would play with Guddu and Guddu with Soni. Of course they would play with me when we were together, but we weren’t always together. When we got board-games, we would play them whenever we were together. All the other times they would play with each other, I would play with myself. I learnt how to play Chess with myself, Snakes and ladders with myself, Monopoly with myself, Life with myself and later on even Uno with myself! It almost seems as though ‘myself’ were an other person. Maybe ‘myself’ IS another person.
My mother never bought me Barbie dolls. I never even had stuff toys. My dad would buy lots of Gokulams and Champaks and Tinkles (never Tinkle Digest, because he said the print was too small) and colouring books and all that, but never Barbie dolls. I liked Barbie dolls. I would love dressing them up. Then my aunt bought me one. I would play with it for hours. I’d make up stories and make the other dolls, toys, bears enact them out. Love stories, terrorist attacks, travel stories, adventures, magic. Basically everything I had read about. My imagination was my best friend. - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I hated Saturdays. I always hated them. I still hate them. I was and I am still scared of Saturdays.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - I should’ve never started bottling things up. I should’ve had a friend near home. I never spoke again once I had decided(unconsciously) to keep it all mum. I regret that too. I can never trust anybody completely. I can’t get myself too. I never say things directly. I just can’t. I wish to be understood without me saying anything. But that won’t happen without effort from my side. I can’t get myself to trust anybody. I just can’t.
When It comes to my friends I think I listen more than talk to them. I never tell them the kind of things they tell me. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to. I desperately wish they’d ask me sometimes, you know, persuade me into opening up a little. That never happens. I get a feeling they are a trifle scared of me. I am capable of being extremely curt and giving fierce looks. One look and people back off. I’m really good at pretending. But you’d never find out how good I am. That’s because I can very efficiently pretend to not be good at pretending.
I indulge in a lot of Interpersonal Communication (Go Wikipedia); to the extent of it being on the borderline of turning into a dangerous disorder. But then, I am my own best friend. I can agonize myself worse than anybody could ever do and cheer myself up better than anybody else could too. Maybe then I shouldn’t say that I feel lonely. I have ‘myself’, don’t I?
I’m SO full of paradoxes, contradictions, extremes. It’s like being an amalgam of two starkly different elements. I am a total opposite of what I am. - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Today’s moody confession: 1] The first term of school this year was the worst time of school ever; full of such dirty, filthy things. I needed to take a day off today to put an end to it all. I needed to cleanse. Mummy did most of it for me. I knew she would, like she always did. I will have to start afresh from tomorrow. Yesterday was the zenith of all the disconcertment. I felt so dirty. Polluted. Soiled. I knew it would all fall today…after all it couldn’t get worse, could it? The day before yesterday was like heaven when compared to the rest of the maddening week. It felt so good. But I did nothing great that day. Eyeing it from the ‘fun’ point of view it pales in comparison with lots of other days. But it was a day that I’ll never forget. It was special in its own special way. A very special day. I still can’t figure out why though...I’ve been trying to solve it all and understand what made it so special but it’s not happening. Maybe I should just leave it. It’s perfect the way it is. You ask what ‘it’? I dunno. I really dunno.
*16th August :
I am very red-in-the-facedly admitting that I’m still thinking about this whole thing and I have still not figured out stuff but then I realized one other thing. Deepthi asked me the other day what my favourite part of the day was. I chose something randomly and then later last night I was thinking about it again. And no sooner did the thought enter my head, than I could see one umm flash or something.
After our great troop leader admonished me for ‘staring’ with a brusque “Stop staring”, I felt like a primary school kid being rebuked for talking in class. So I turned in front and fidgeted with the knobs in the front for a while trying to increase the speaker’s volume, again to be notified but our troop leader that the knob controlled the temperature. Red-in-the-face again I turned to pretending-to-enjoy the view outside through the translucent curtain formed by the drizzling drizzle. And then suddenly I felt very nice. The whole ride felt very nice. The entire day felt very nice. The whole feel felt very nice. (Crappy English, but still..). then I put my head out of the window, face upwards. The soft drops on my face. It felt beautiful. Yes the kajal I was wearing and all that must’ve got smeared, but I didn’t think of that until I went home that day. Anyway getting back to the ‘feel’. It just felt very very nice and yes, beautiful. Thank you, Troop leader. Thanks a LOT!
2] My mommy is the bestest. I should be more considerate towards her. I should stop accusing her. She takes it all only for me. I should be more tolerant. She hasn’t got any other outlet to give vent to all that anger and frustration. But atleast she’s got me as a punch-bag. I don’t even have that. I want to stop reacting. But then, I’m not a rock. I’m weak.
Im really getting lots of afterthoughts about this one(the first line under 2]). 11 agosto White flag bleached.Okay. So today I will not beat around the bush, or indulge in mush (Did I EVER do that?). I will just simply give this matter a push. I’m dying. That basically sums it all up. I’m dying. My immune system has given up completely. The white flag has been hoisted. I will be dead in a few days. I will no longer loiter around this place in a short while. I will be dead and gone forever soon.
Now, I’m presuming that the message had sunk in and you have your party cap on already, but before you go buy that bottle of drink, I’d like you to be a part of my will and to do so all you have to is give me your list and then you can go ‘Party like a rock star’ (Incase you haven’t heard that bit of “music”, I’d just say – Ignorance is bliss).
Moving on to more trivial issues, here’s a list of all the maladies/ diseases/ infirmities/ disorders that seem to have got the better of me:
- Firstly I was born mental. That doesn’t need no underscoring.
- Secondly, I’m still mentally deranged. Yes, I know you need no reminding, but then typing it was highly imperative (You know dying man’s last wish and all that balderdash).
- Thirdly, I’m at the moment suffering from a slightly uncommon form of common cold which involves severely diluted mucous flowing down the nostrils at frequent intervals of time but I’m still able to breathe in, and even out, more efficiently than usual.
-Fourthly, the ineludible fever is loitering around off and on too. (NOTE: ‘off and on’ and ‘on and off’ are two different phrases [duh] with different meanings. The first part I had figured out, but the latter half is what I was unaware of until recently).
- Fifthly, I can’t move even a finger once in a while. So much so that someone had to screw and unscrew my lenses during some nonsense Physics practical exam.
- Sixthly, my eyes have simply disappeared and are just about visible in the form of Voldemort-like slits. Not only that, the iris is painted red too.
- Seventhly, my ears are blocked, along with my throat. I can’t hear short-range sounds. But I’m turning hypersensitive to distant ones. And I sound like that alien in a pink short dress from ‘Dude, where’s my car?’
- Eighthly, like I had mentioned earlier, I suffer from Anterograde Amnesia.
- Ninthly, I’ve been reading poetry.
- Tenthly, I have absolutely no control over the coordination and locomotion part of my vital body activities. I fell down flat on my face though I didn’t actually trip over anything and scraped my knees and arms.
- Eleventhly, I guess my hypersensitivity to sounds and odours adds to my slightly Autistic behavior.
- Twelfthly, I feel like a wasp made of smoke.
- Thirteenthly, I’m also emotionally ill. The Great Depression has arrived again. Zio is definitely going to stay over for a long while this time.
- Fourteenthly, winter will arrive soon and the epidermis of the cells which form the outer most skin of my palm will start shedding, and I will be reduced to doing 'Lady Macbeth' like hand-scrubbing movements.
- Fifteenthly, My rib-cage is aching badly along with my brain and skull.
- Sixteenthly, I seem to have/show all symptoms of Malaria, the most important one being tiny red bumps all over my limbs.
- Most Importantly, I’m also so full of lethargy and I suffer from an OCD that involves inability to eschew exaggeration, amplification and the like.
And yes, I’m a Hypochondriac too.
29 luglio The Importance Of Being Idle.Umm…Ahem.
Ahem. Ahem. Ahem.
*Sneezes. *Rushes out, gulps down a glass of pure, purified, mineralized, drinking water (to ward off Lady Bad Luck and rushes back.
*Takes a deep breath. *Lets it out.
*Burps, bats eyelashes, smiles stupidly.
Good Night(or whatever time of the day it is)! Ladies and gentlemen. Boys and girls. Sisters and brothers. Fathers and mothers. And well of course the others, It gives me intense pleasure to see you here today. You are now witnessing (experiencing rather...) a very momentous moment in the history of mankind.
[Flourish] [More Flourish]
*Mouths: Why the hell can’t we have some louder and longer ‘flourish’?
[c_ _ _ _F L O U R I S H_ _ _ _{c} (Can you rotate letters on MS Word? If yes, then, how?)]
Now that your vivid imagination with the aid of my ineffective effort to get you into the ‘feel’ of this historic occasion has failed miserably, we shall proceed.
I would now like to thank Cauliflower. Why? Why because, - Cauliflower happened to listen to roughly 10 seconds of a certain song on vh1. - Cauliflower apparently fell in love with it. - The catch (that invariably follows the word ‘love’) being that he very conveniently could recollect only one word, ‘Sally’. - A successful search by this enterprising young man pinpointed ‘Don’t look back in Anger – OASIS’. - A public declaration of the success led to a double-click on the Lime wire icon. - Then the unavoidable downloadance of various songs by the same band occurred. - One of those many songs was ‘The Importance Of Being Idle’.
Now I see the cloud - which probably didn’t exist in the first place - clearing.
Though I had initially titled the song ‘The crater on the surface of a planet called Music’, it occurred to me later that the original title of the song was eloquent and profound enough to obscure other frivolous traits of the song.
So, now I begin.
·idle ˈaɪd l - Show Spelled Pronunciation[ahyd-l] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation adjective, i·dler, i·dlest, verb i·dled, i·dling, noun–adjective
The importance of being idle, my bored/annoyed audience, lies in discovering the importance of being idle, after actually experiencing it. Allow me to particularize.
Being idle is truly an enriching experience. And I am ‘enriched’ by it, so much so that I constantly pretend to not-remember the 954 billion important things I have pending to complete/do/say and instead, I choose to be idle. And the importance of ‘being idle’ lies not in the state or quality of being idle but in all the efforts one makes-unconsciously to some extent- to get rid of the ‘void’. My case sounds a little wonky here. It’s hard to learn and digest the fact that I consciously choose to be idle, so that when I’m idling, I subconsciously indulge in the inescapable efforts that are made by me to employ myself with something apart from sitting/standing and doing absolutely nothing. But what baffles me more is the question I put forth now: Why am I trying to assist you in comprehending all this, esp. when you are actually not interested? Well, I leave that question for you to answer. (Hello! Even you should be doing something around here, why should I always be the one doing all the talking and typing?).
All the things you could do/say/etc... when idle:- :Reflect on the anguish and agony you are experiencing as a result of continual inhuman treatment in the hands of ISC Physics.
:Repeatedly listen to songs like ‘Hey there, Delilah’ and ‘The Big Black Horse and Cherry Tree’. This state of affairs can be equated to being continuously nagged by your mum or sitting beside a drilling machine at work.
:Discover your true beauty/exercise your face muscles when making faces at yourself(needless to mention, with the aid of a clean/unclean, cracked/intact mirror).
:Go to visit Kenny (South park) in heaven.
:Check your blood pressure with the stethoscope hanging down your neck.
:Try to rejoin half-bitten nails.
:Watch Star World.
:Go to school.
:Look up at the toy-clock for the time when the mid-noon church bell rings.
:Look up the dictionary for the correct pronunciation of the word ‘aero plane’.
:
THE LIST WILL BE CONTINUED.. THIS ENTERPRISE HAD TO BE ABANDONED OWING TO THE FACT THAT IT IS NOW 1 AM AND I JUST REMINDED MYSELF ABOUT A CERTAIN PLAN I HAD MADE THAT INVOLVED WAKING UP EARLY TO STUDY. ......
|
Oh whatever.
Nehaha scritto:
NOTE: Best if viewed in font style - Lucida Grande
23 Dic.
|
|||||||
Invia un messaggio privato
Sottoscrivi RSS
Dillo a un amico
Aggiungi a My MSN
Aggiungi alla tua rete di amici
Iscriviti al servizio Alerts|
|
