sotong

New updates on blurness. One day, I swear, I will fall off a cliff from not observing the railings.

ARTICLES ALMOST LOST

Monday:
Tuesday: wallet.
Wednesday: sweater.
Thursday: watch.
Friday: foolscap pad, plus plastic shopping bag containing sweaty PE clothes, handphone AND wallet
Saturday: three freshly-borrowed books, very cleverly left on the wall protrusion of the lastmost cubicle in the second floor toilet of the National Library.


The watch was a piece of luck -- I never thought I'd see it again. Large thank-yous to the cleaner who found it and that spookily perspicacious security guard who actually found me and asked me if it were mine O_O



In the meantime, due to my blurness in repeatedly forgetting to collect Lit tutorial materials, there will be no tutorial on Monday and my class will probably be hating me for the rest of the year.

Inferiority complex registering a record high.

Anime

I hate being interrupted in the middle of watching anime. It's like being caught red-handed in the midst of pillaging your grandmother's innards. This feeling bounces out of the recesses of my infantile persona in the same way when The People At Home discover me reading manga, drawing, or in fact anything that isn't related to good hard solid straightforward work. It's all in the conditioning.

Thus enlightened, imagine how it felt when my mother ripped the door from its hinges flying into the room, completely without warning, waving a stupid little piece of paper with the RJ crest emblazoned in glittery black photocopy over the top, and scaring me half to unlife. And then there was that queasy little stir in my bowels that tells you that you've commited bloody murder yesterday only your memory somehow blanked it out.

Guess what that stupid little piece of paper said. I didn't need to, because my mother began telling me, very fast, exactly what it said.

It said that RJ was awarding my oldest brother with a study bursary amounting to some rather impressive thousands, and that there were quite a few scholarship who would like to snap him up, and in an earlier phone call that the school couldn't decide between my brother and another boy to send the bursary to at first. My mother forced the paper under my nose. It was rather a long list of scholarships.


mother (concluding very very long and excited rant, ignoring my growing irritation): so you see! There's still hope! As long as you work hard!
me (brightly): that's very inspiring!
mother: yeah, isn't it! Work hard!


My mother's cluelessness ratings are off the chart today.
It's more than just irritation this time. Nothing is good enough.




He's due back on Thursday. I shall be glad to see him.

Ironically, he's the one who downloads all the anime in the house. Now that I think again I suppose he's got a right to.

Grumble.

How to tell an eleven-year-old girl that Winnie the Pooh once a week really isn't enough to learn proper grammar...?

Not going to list down my mid-year results like some blogs are doing because they aren't very shiny things to show off. The most I'll say is that the whole enterprise is so screwy that even with a mind-boggling perfect 50% score in Econs I managed to top my class. Which is sad.

My father can make the most offensive remarks without noticing how offensive they are, and I'm not allowed to tell him. He's more like a particularly nasty boss than a father in this respect <__<

By the way, another two history essays. They never seem to end.




P.S. Public P was goooooooood.

Intellectual discourse

I returned home after another excessively depressing talk with Pong :P The propensity for depressingness is not, as far as I can see, either of our faults by the way -- if you can find someone who can become depressed with you instead of demeaning the conundrum with bracing platitudes it is exceedingly rare -- and that was how it was. It was about nine and my parents were conferring in my father's room. It seems as if my brother's gotten an invitation to some kind of MOE scholarship presentation.


Meanwhile, my mother attempts to understand me, unwittingly using the most fantastic oxymorons I've ever come across in all my years of human interaction.

mother: (rattling about all the alternative academic routes I should take, conveniently not mention the 'failing JC part')
me: I wish you wouldn't say that -- it sounds as if I really don't have a choice.
mother: There are many choices in life... (insert extended justification involving the daughters of cousins of friends here)


I suppose I can just wish and wish and nothing will ever change.

Now. 3000 more words to write before I finish that bloody SEA History assignment.

I'd love to sit in Castle Anthrax for a day and have nothing to do for once.

Spanking or making exciting underwear are some things I don't think I ever want to do though. Yeuch.



My life has been very bloggable of late.
What to tell first?...


The whole family turned out to see my brother off at the airport last night.

While I like my brother, I had to wish that he hadn't taken all of two hours and ten minutes to leave. Joseph Conrad can only hold my attention for so long; as it is I gave up in disgust at the end of Chapter I. It's not as if Heart of Darkness is boring, it's just that I've got so many nicer things to read. Like my growing pile of unread The Economist magazines. Or Dilbert.


...I drowsed awake THIS morning to the screaming of an innocuous voice beside my ear. It was my father. I grumbled and my hand wandered over to find my alarm clock, only to find that it was not there. It had fallen off the edge of the Table into the crack between the Table and the Bed.

It was seven o'clock: latest reporting time to school is at 7.35.

'See what happens when you don't sleep early!' my father yelled, and my mother came in to help lug me bodily out of bed. Unfortunately by then I was instantly awake and not swearing -- not swearing was a Herculean feat, by the way -- and plunging to the toilet for my toothbrush.

me (moaning): I'm never going to hear the end of this.*
mother: It's okay, you don't need to rush so much, your father's going to take you to school.
me (moaning): I'm still never going to hear the end of this.
mother: Don't worry, you're not going to be late.

That's not what I meant.


[*referring to the little jibe about sleeping late, because I had been forced to turn in at 1 a.m. last night after a day already crammed with homework and my brother's extended bout of fun at the airport with his friends.]


...


I feel depressed like shit.
...




Now my eyes are screwing up from the tiredness. Like this: *___*. Stupid history assignments.

I should be doing them now, but I'm not because I just spent three hours on ONE of them and half an hour on the other.

Possibly another eight hours at least to go before they're done; the first of them is due on Tuesday, and the next by the end of this week.



Something about the strange little fluctuations in my heatbeat tells me I will die young.

Yesterday

WHITE SIDE

Pong (describing something about the speed of light): [suddenly] do you have a pen? I'm going to draw a very tortured-looking fish.

Gay (lambasting Wynne over the phone): madame, your tardiness is SILLY!



BLACK SIDE

After dinner my mother invaded my room and remarked, very condescendingly, that since I frittered my saturdays away out of the house and I spent so much moneey, it was time I got a job.

It seems that the year of trying to hammer 'I go out TO study' has been quite fruitless. Especially because if I stay at home on specifically, Saturday mornings, nothing gets done.

It's not as if I play with my tablet on weekdays because I'm a frivolous nut who doesn't care about her grades. I play with my tablet and make bookmarks and read and draw because if I didn't, to quote XT, I'd go mad. I don't go overboard with this stuff but neither am I a mindless fucking grades machine. I'm barely holding the fort with the work, I'm tired all the time, I'm bloody trying to pick up on the mess she partly got me into and she wants me to go and find a job.

I wouldn't mind in the least if my family really needed the money or something, but what she was busy insinuating ridiculous. It's not really up to me if the History photocopy fees escalate and I find I have to go to her humbly to beg for the cash because my parents steadfastly refuse to give me a regular allowance -- on the premise that I'll stop eating if they do. So if I want anything I have to go and toady for it. Idiot. Every time she comes floating in to give me an Inspirational Little Talk (ILT) she will remind me smugly that I am deep in her debt, up to the neck.

I told her to go away.

She said, 'Don't tell me to go away.'

Well then go to HELL!




footnote
upon hearing that out of approx 800 people 106 had received sub-passes and 389 ungraded for the H2 math mid-year(these are accurate statistice by the way), she said, quite reasonably, 'then why aren't you one of the better ones?'

I'm not really furious any more, since it's tomorrow already, but she's utterly convinced that I'm going to flunk my EOYs and get retained, and she'll be humiliated. It never does occur to her that I might be more worried about my future than she is. It is, after all, my future.

Did homework (i.e. math) until I dropped to sleep last night. Couldn't sleep very well, got up at 1 to do a math problem, and to write down the rant up there because it was bursting out of me like the reverse peristalsis whatever-it's-called you get before you finally spew the vomit.

my brother leaves for Paris, Venice and Slovenia for the international math olympiad tonight. My mother wants us all to go and take pictures because, after all, it's her first-born son. She's already laid out my nicer clothes half an hour ago.

It's ten in the morning.

At this moment she is preparing a spa for my brother. I'm not sure if he appreciates being ordered into things that are good for him. He's as introverted as I am. But on the normal day he does get this much less shit than I do.

If all it takes to stop that whining is for me to freaking not fail math, I'm sure as hell going to try. Not as if I haven't been trying.


Perhaps I should have just chocked innocently on my ghastly soya bean milk formula when I was a baby already.

Fearsome Butterfly Interns

Layer 5 was complete by itself, but here's another take.




For the other other take, go to my deviantart account. It is at http://minamata.deviantart.com. Yay for pimpage!


In other news -- again -- I retract everything I've said about the Nefarious Little Brats. I instead drop the reputation upon the Fearsome Butterfly Interns (FBI), who must be around secondary school and do the motions -- BACKWARDS.

Idiots!

Layer 5

don't you love the shadows?


In other news: There're only about thirteen weeks left to promos.

Should I be scared? I AM.


Thirteen weeks is no damn joke.

Layer 4

Shadows more distinct.

Layer 2, or 3. Can't remember.

This is without the inky effects.

Nefarious Little Brats

Acronym for National Library Board, by the way.

And the horrible little monsters are extremely adept at foot-to-head combat, especially since they swim not in schools, but in swarms. They come at you armed with floats and surround the hapless, helpless swimmer, and -- before you know it, you're being assaulted from all directions. The only difference between them and piranhas is the big sharp teeth (substituted with yellow bludgeons) and their area of inhabitation (Amazon river vs. the neighbourhood swimming pool), and the fact that NLBs work in shifts.

The worst bit is when they're all doing backstroke.

So one moment I'm frogging peacefully and WHAM.

Am now quite unable to walk.



By the way, because you didn't ask, the KI exam was fiiiiiiine. Just fiiiiiiiiiiiiine.

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA. Mysti's got an alcoholic stage boyfriend! He's the "kidnapped prince".

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!





P.S. I did rethink my life. Being bashed on the head with a yellow float makes you experience moments of epiphany.

Free samples to be given out at peak hours in Tampines Swimming Complex.

Rather depressed

I went home early expressly for dinner today. I went to bathe and came out only to find out that everyone had eaten my share, believing me to have taken my food already.

So I made myself instant noodles.

...



But before I got home at all, I had a conversation with Pong. The main theme of the conversation was about the applicability of our respective futures (tell me about a job that isn't boring and yields a good income, and is RELEVANT TO MY SUBJECT COMBINATION -- excluding politics, obviously) and how exactly we could contrive to create a resume good enough for a scholarship. You can probably find more detail in her blog, which I can't be bothered to link you to.

Now I feel extremely sad. Tomorrow after the KI test I think I am going to sit down and rethink my life.





This picture is when the opacity of the second layer is set to five times of what it actually is. Look at how evil she looks.

Maybe I'll keep this and put excessive amounts of blood on her for a separate picture.

First layer

Tell me a story about Kuroyanagi Arashi, because I have no idea how she got her hands so bloody.

Second layer up as soon as I feel like it.