Next Last Post
Well now, this is my next and probably last post before I’m overtaken once again by the vice grip of tyranny that goes by the seemingly innocuous name of the SPM. Right now, I can safely say that I have not been studying quite as diligently as my mother would have me. After all, she says that the only way I’m going to an Australian college is on a scholarship, and if I don’t get good grades on the SPM, I won’t get a scholarship and will be forced to take STPM. Oh horrors. Anyway, I am now once again in uncertainty as I wait to see what college I can go to. (As I see it, the STPM is only to be taken as a definite, desperate, only-to-be-taken-in-times-of-great-and-perilous-danger last-minute choice; even A-Levels are better.) I shall soon be applying to TAR college, which I will probably not go to even if I do get in because my mother will have found yet another, better (read: cheaper) college to apply to.
But then it’s just my grouchiness taking over. I’ve been particularly grumpy these days; it must be the stress getting to me. Or maybe it’s just that I can’t stand it when the Pig fluked out and managed to read the chapter of History from which pretty much all the essay questions came—and the one I’d been banking on didn’t. Or maybe it’s just that I didn’t do too well on my English Literature paper.
Yeah, you heard me, or rather read this right. I, who a few posts ago was boasting about all the books I’ve read, have not done well on my English Literature Paper. It just goes to illustrate the pride-before-destruction rule of life that I mentioned, also a few posts ago. The essay question should have been so very easy; I’d done it with Nil several times in tuition class (the school doesn’t offer the subject although the Head Discipline Teacher majored in it in Uni. Don’t ask me why) and the answers should have been right at my fingertips and all over them as well.
As a result, I did the question and finished twenty minutes before the deadline. Upon which it occurred to me to double-check—and realise that the question called for only one text to be used. I’d used two. Now, this may not seem like much, but believe, me, when an essay is worth twenty percent of your final grade, every little mistake hurts big time. So, I had no choice but to copy the whole stupid thing over, revising my errors as I went. It’s a pity I didn’t learn speed writing, because I didn’t finish in time. (Try copying a two-page essay in twenty minutes in a state of panic!) My last paragraph is seriously lacking in content, but at least I did put down a decent conclusion. Something along the lines of, “Have mercy, O great and glorious examiner, have mercy on this exam paper and give me an A!”
The weather, at least, has been pretty good. It rains roughly every other day, and on the days that exams run late, it drizzles or storms towards the end of the exam paper. Wonderful setting for taking a paper, I must say. The only downside is that one has to visit the WC more often and thus lose out on precious time. (This applies especially to the female of the species.) Since I don’t drink much anyway, this doesn’t really affect me; but the weather is certainly enjoyable. It beats walking home in the burning hot afternoon, anyhow.
Nobody has posted much yet. It’s a pity, considering the large block of free time we have right now. But then I suppose they all have their own activities. The Pig, Kelvin and Herr Robson, for example, are hooked on RO and spend every moment of waking time on it. (They have broadband, so it doesn’t hurt their finances too much.) I have no idea what the charitable classmate and Meow are doing. They’re both the most prolific posters on my list—everybody else only posts once in a multi-coloured moon, if at all—but neither one has posted anything up yet. I’m disappointed. And after all the time I spent telling them to post! Talk about wasted effort…
Anyway, right now I’m quite free. I’ve been going online a lot more to make up for missed nights, and so now I’m online about once every three nights. It gives me a few more chances to torture Canal, like I did last night. He’s getting immune to it, though. The old tactics aren’t working quite so well anymore. If anyone has some tips on ‘How to Drive People whom you chat with Crazy’, please, please post a comment down there and tell me how.
Speaking of chatting, I just had one with Wolf last night. He appears somewhat worried about my upcoming trip to the Big S, asking about my security measures, etc and offering to come by every now and then to check on things. I accepted. So if you’re reading this and you’re a potential burglar/ robber/ criminal of any sort, be warned that I now have a twenty-foot deep moat around my house filled with toxic waste and killer piranhas, electrified fences and walls, concertina wire everywhere, twenty different alarm systems in various places, two CCTV systems, a dozen trained attack hounds, and the police station on speed dial, as well as one occasional visitor who is a black belt in five different martial disciplines, has elevated torture to an art form, and has a very fierce German Shepherd who happens to eat the local prison’s inmates for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Oh, yeah, and the walls, doors, and windows are reinforced with a titanium-aluminium alloy, so don’t even think about drilling in. And the window glass is reinforced too, and is connected to an extremely sensitive and loud alarm. So if you think you’re going to break in, think again. Because it won’t be worth your trouble; there’s nothing in the house but two or three loose cents here and there or the odd novel. What, you think I’m going to the Big S, the city where everything with a price can be haggled over, without bringing every cent I have? I’m going to spend the lot!
Christmas is approaching! Yeah, we all know that already considering the billions of sales going on right now in all the stores around (according to all the advertisements). And the signs are more obvious than you might think. The choir of the church behind my house has just started having daily rehearsals of their Christmas presentation, and they do it at night. So now I eat my dinner to the sound of ‘Jingle Bells’, study while ‘Dreaming of a White Christmas’, and go to sleep with ‘Silver Bells’ ringing in my ear. It’s quite enjoyable, really, but it does get monotonous. At least it’s good music; not like the rock my kid brother tries so hard to ape!
You see, he’s just growing up and can’t tell the delicate difference between rock or jazz or pop or whatever, so he seems to have decided that the hallmark of rock music is volume. And boy, does he have the volume. He may just be the main cause of my aforementioned grouchiness; I don’t like to wake up with somebody belting out the latest hits by goodness knows who, at the tops of their voice (circa 250 decibels), and completely and totally off-key. And then he’s only a boy, and his singing goes all the way up and beyond higher C. I’m convinced that the kid could crack glass just by whispering to it. (Somehow I’m forcibly reminded of last year, when the Pig sang Beddingfield’s songs over and over and over again for three straight months. I hated it, especially since he only knew how to sing TWO LINES of the whole song, and kept singing nothing but those two lines. I absolutely hated it.)
So that’s about it. I’ve no more to rant about, nothing much more to say. I’ll tell you all about the great evil (SPM) after it’s over. And don’t worry, I’ll tell you all about the Big S when I get back, if not sooner. See you.
But then it’s just my grouchiness taking over. I’ve been particularly grumpy these days; it must be the stress getting to me. Or maybe it’s just that I can’t stand it when the Pig fluked out and managed to read the chapter of History from which pretty much all the essay questions came—and the one I’d been banking on didn’t. Or maybe it’s just that I didn’t do too well on my English Literature paper.
Yeah, you heard me, or rather read this right. I, who a few posts ago was boasting about all the books I’ve read, have not done well on my English Literature Paper. It just goes to illustrate the pride-before-destruction rule of life that I mentioned, also a few posts ago. The essay question should have been so very easy; I’d done it with Nil several times in tuition class (the school doesn’t offer the subject although the Head Discipline Teacher majored in it in Uni. Don’t ask me why) and the answers should have been right at my fingertips and all over them as well.
As a result, I did the question and finished twenty minutes before the deadline. Upon which it occurred to me to double-check—and realise that the question called for only one text to be used. I’d used two. Now, this may not seem like much, but believe, me, when an essay is worth twenty percent of your final grade, every little mistake hurts big time. So, I had no choice but to copy the whole stupid thing over, revising my errors as I went. It’s a pity I didn’t learn speed writing, because I didn’t finish in time. (Try copying a two-page essay in twenty minutes in a state of panic!) My last paragraph is seriously lacking in content, but at least I did put down a decent conclusion. Something along the lines of, “Have mercy, O great and glorious examiner, have mercy on this exam paper and give me an A!”
The weather, at least, has been pretty good. It rains roughly every other day, and on the days that exams run late, it drizzles or storms towards the end of the exam paper. Wonderful setting for taking a paper, I must say. The only downside is that one has to visit the WC more often and thus lose out on precious time. (This applies especially to the female of the species.) Since I don’t drink much anyway, this doesn’t really affect me; but the weather is certainly enjoyable. It beats walking home in the burning hot afternoon, anyhow.
Nobody has posted much yet. It’s a pity, considering the large block of free time we have right now. But then I suppose they all have their own activities. The Pig, Kelvin and Herr Robson, for example, are hooked on RO and spend every moment of waking time on it. (They have broadband, so it doesn’t hurt their finances too much.) I have no idea what the charitable classmate and Meow are doing. They’re both the most prolific posters on my list—everybody else only posts once in a multi-coloured moon, if at all—but neither one has posted anything up yet. I’m disappointed. And after all the time I spent telling them to post! Talk about wasted effort…
Anyway, right now I’m quite free. I’ve been going online a lot more to make up for missed nights, and so now I’m online about once every three nights. It gives me a few more chances to torture Canal, like I did last night. He’s getting immune to it, though. The old tactics aren’t working quite so well anymore. If anyone has some tips on ‘How to Drive People whom you chat with Crazy’, please, please post a comment down there and tell me how.
Speaking of chatting, I just had one with Wolf last night. He appears somewhat worried about my upcoming trip to the Big S, asking about my security measures, etc and offering to come by every now and then to check on things. I accepted. So if you’re reading this and you’re a potential burglar/ robber/ criminal of any sort, be warned that I now have a twenty-foot deep moat around my house filled with toxic waste and killer piranhas, electrified fences and walls, concertina wire everywhere, twenty different alarm systems in various places, two CCTV systems, a dozen trained attack hounds, and the police station on speed dial, as well as one occasional visitor who is a black belt in five different martial disciplines, has elevated torture to an art form, and has a very fierce German Shepherd who happens to eat the local prison’s inmates for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Oh, yeah, and the walls, doors, and windows are reinforced with a titanium-aluminium alloy, so don’t even think about drilling in. And the window glass is reinforced too, and is connected to an extremely sensitive and loud alarm. So if you think you’re going to break in, think again. Because it won’t be worth your trouble; there’s nothing in the house but two or three loose cents here and there or the odd novel. What, you think I’m going to the Big S, the city where everything with a price can be haggled over, without bringing every cent I have? I’m going to spend the lot!
Christmas is approaching! Yeah, we all know that already considering the billions of sales going on right now in all the stores around (according to all the advertisements). And the signs are more obvious than you might think. The choir of the church behind my house has just started having daily rehearsals of their Christmas presentation, and they do it at night. So now I eat my dinner to the sound of ‘Jingle Bells’, study while ‘Dreaming of a White Christmas’, and go to sleep with ‘Silver Bells’ ringing in my ear. It’s quite enjoyable, really, but it does get monotonous. At least it’s good music; not like the rock my kid brother tries so hard to ape!
You see, he’s just growing up and can’t tell the delicate difference between rock or jazz or pop or whatever, so he seems to have decided that the hallmark of rock music is volume. And boy, does he have the volume. He may just be the main cause of my aforementioned grouchiness; I don’t like to wake up with somebody belting out the latest hits by goodness knows who, at the tops of their voice (circa 250 decibels), and completely and totally off-key. And then he’s only a boy, and his singing goes all the way up and beyond higher C. I’m convinced that the kid could crack glass just by whispering to it. (Somehow I’m forcibly reminded of last year, when the Pig sang Beddingfield’s songs over and over and over again for three straight months. I hated it, especially since he only knew how to sing TWO LINES of the whole song, and kept singing nothing but those two lines. I absolutely hated it.)
So that’s about it. I’ve no more to rant about, nothing much more to say. I’ll tell you all about the great evil (SPM) after it’s over. And don’t worry, I’ll tell you all about the Big S when I get back, if not sooner. See you.
Comments
Oh, and I didn't realise you went online anymore. Welcome back to the wonderful world of cyberspace, Jack!