No more Despair, Mr Gaiman!

1. I am now convinced of the mundane unpleasantness we all possess, which is far worse than evil. Or maybe this is evil instead. Just like how it is not the dictatorial pro-genocide psychopaths we should fear (because, well, they are psychopathic), but the good men who subject to his will. Hitler is not very scary, I think. The people who let him do what he did are scary. So are the people who send their virgins to feed the king.

2. Surprise surprise! I did not screw up (to varying degrees) Math/SS/Physics. This is very stressful.

3. The love of my life! It is very sad. Because I look and think, oh well I will never be as good as you. I might not actually believe that, because these things are very subjective and sometimes I believe I am not that bad. But. Still. I remember everything. Everything. Which is a very bad sign indeed.

4. Have not done speech. Will die next week, being the only one to do speech. And I shall have no one to whine to, because by then everyone will be worrying about HOLY CRAP BIOLOGY. ):

5. Many many many people are not going for FAM, which is annoying. What is possibly more annoying is that many people are actually going in my class, but a lot of my friends are not going. I don't actually care about the hotel or the food. Because, well, some times it pays to be sentimental I suppose. Just like how I will possibly cry at the end of the year and people will look at me with funny expressions.

6. My love for Terry Pratchett has surpassed my love for Neil Gaiman. You know, just like how the world looks right only through the bottom of a liquor bottle for Sam, I think the world looks very right only through Anhk-Morpork. <33 And also because Neil Gaiman I HATE you for killing, say, fifty kittens? And having them eat each other. YOU BASTARD. asd;lkfnasdlkfas;df

7. I miss Monk, I miss House, and I miss the stupid Superman comedy they used to show on thursdays. My Hero. Right. Now I am sustained solely by Project Runway, which is very very cool, and Singapore Idol, which amuses me so with bad singing. Oh and Slitty Eyes Slitty Eyes you are singing out my Jamie Cullem songlist!

8. I deduce that all respectable authors have one tragic flaw. That is, they enjoy writing about cats, and then killing them in creative and tragic ways. Er. Stop doing that. Please? I find it way more interesting when guinea pigs are killed. Just like in Little Britain.