I just had my dinner. While preparing it, I had to handle some cheese. That made me think of France, which in turn made me think of... Monty Python and the Holy Grail (do YOU know why). And my favourite character is the Enchanter and his excessive fireballing. At ALL the right times.
[Just returned from a Monty Python break. 4:30am]
And it was while preparing my meal that I found out why the cheese had tasted and smelt funny for some time now. It expired in December last year. A GRRAILL!!?
Well anyway I had a new packet, so all was well. The expired cheese is still in my fridge; I don't think previous occasions of its consumption was accompanied by any stomach discomforts. So I will check with Mak, check how safe it is to keep eating it. Yes, it is strange now, isn't it.
The rest of this post will be splat into two parts:
PART I: My Hidden Insecurity
PART II: I've Gone Mentwl
Part II is actually unrelated, I just feel like writing something a post-apocalyptic world dictator might be reading to millions of citizens wired in to some propaganda network.
PART I
I had gone through my stuff previously, but the mess that lay in its wake (not much of a mess actually) warranted a second cleaning. And thus began the arduous process of whatever. Then I came across thick files of worksheets, notes and practices, which I decided to keep from my first cleaning run. A few of them were from my secondary school days. So I thought to myself, wo' in the world would I want to keep them for? My brothers? Downright impossible! They have enough notes of their own and won't have the time for mine!
So I questioned myself a little more. There was something unsettling about the way I had convinced myself to keep the worksheets. I then tricked myself into answering me:
I kept all those files of work as evidence. In the remote case someone were to stumble upon them or request a viewing, I'd have these worksheets to show. Show what? Show that I had really studied a lot and tried a lot (there were so many pages of corrections and self-simplified explanations and redone questions). But why would I want to do that?
Because my GRRRADESSS were not up to scratch, have never been, and so I feel a need to have backing for when I exclaim: 'But look at all I did! I put so much effort into it yet I screwed up!'
No, Fawaz. That's not the entire truth. Yes you put in effort, but it was never as consistent as it should have been. You had your off seasons, and you had your collection of cobwebs. But whatever the reason, or however much you DID work, the fact remains, You Screwed Up Academically (why did I think that could have been shortened to YMCA...?).
But it wouldn't matter, since I've got a direction, options, and whatnot, right?
WRRRRRONG!
'Tis true, I tell so many people that grades don't matter to me. They don't, practically worthless. 'Tis true, I don't judge others by their performance in school. And whatever else you could say, is, probably true. But after so many years of being around normal but intelligent people, I can't help but ask myself,
What do I have to prove my intelligence?
What, that I was in RI? RJC? BAH! All of that was because of my surprisingly good PSLE aggregate, a blessing from God. But what else do I have? Nothing! The occasional high-scoring paper is NAANSUFFICIENT! So, how now? How? I'll tell you how. I'll tell you that even as I try to tell people how to look on the bright side and how to this and how to that, there are plenty of times when I feel downright dumb.
Strange thing is, sometimes its made worse by my intelligent friends- but not their fault! Its only because I ask myself why these people still hang out with someone like me. But of course I know the answer. They are fair and just people who don't judge others. And they appreciate their friends for who they are, because these are really nice friends I have.
But nothing can stop that leech in me from occasionally sucking dry my supply of self-confidence. I know all the answers and I have it all reasoned out, but its like a biological reaction that I can't control. Like a knee-jerk test?
Only its not.
If this is truly my mind and my life (well why WON'T it be) then I do have control over these things. So all that I have to do now is find a way to access the depths of my conscious, subconscious, I really don't know what conscious, and turn off that stupid inconvenient mechanism.
In addition to that, I need to move out of this state of limbo. Need to progress, and produce something of value. Because the fact remains that I won't be able to will myself to make a change if there's still a whisper in my head, reminding me I have nothing to show.
The worksheets? I threw 'em all away, threw everything that I thought I was keeping for 'evidence', threw everything that I would not need to look at again. It felt goooood. Until I started sneezing from all the dust. Wherefrom. I wonder. Not exactly. But nvm.
All of that didn't turn out as epic and fluent and hwow as I wanted it to, but I will leave it at that. My eyes are tired but I just wanna keep going. And you know what, I'll save PART II for some other time. I'm not in the mood to impersonate a mind-bending evil ruler. Instead I will attempt to describe how I feel now; by doing so I remove the emotions from me, and place them out here for you to see. And for me to look at and think about. For some reason it works, these feelings don't bug me after I've gotten them out and looked at. Try it yourself! (ala Art Attack style).
Anticipation turned to shock to disappointment to a lingering feeling of emptiness, which is probably the reason behind my wakefulness. A subconscious message that I haven't gotten something done, but even though I can't do it now its still an Undone in my mind. Like a two-bit processor, a No is a No and nothing can progress till the No is resolved. Two bit, right? And two-bit? That's a nothing-nice word, right. Right. The depths of my mind are reaching and probing darkened areas as I consciously process other things, but its not disturbing. Merely... queer. Its something rather new, so I'm letting it have its way and share of mind-space. Besides, I've consciously aided in their efforts, just to see where its all going and where it originated, and I must say I'm mildly surprised. Things don't turn out as planned, do they.
What is hunger. What is hunger when it can be cast aside for so long and without the slightest thought of treatment. Now that's not hunger. Its an evolution of my digestive tract, metabolism and biological makeup as a whole. Because I have been implanted with microscopic soldiers and phantom steels that fill my bone and fuse with muscle to make me LOATHE THE LACK OF SLEEP THAT I HAVE BEEN SUBJECTING MYSELF TO BYE
Its not what its not if it ain't not what it is, isn't it
Labels: no ligaments, sharing machine, thoughts