Ugh, so five horrible days of rigorous goring regime is over. Nah, I’m too bothered and disguisted to take a peek at the weighing machine, so shrugs, it doesn’t concern me. But by gross estimation, I’m taking 55 as my weight in kgs, any bets? Nevermind, not that it mattered. I’m at the National Library right now, trying out the computer or rather the fancy multimedia stations they call it. If you’d ask me, I’ll say its a censoring machine and that’s all, you can’t access anything other than the unassuming websites. Eh, you know what I mean? No not porn or anything like that that, go figure that out yourself at the booths.
So, the ultimate reason behind my pathetic resort to using these lagging machines is that I can’t be guaranteed a safe access at home. Buggers and all that, eyes peeping behind your back, psst, they don’t know that I own a blog. Heh, they are so geeky even to suggests that the viral attack two days back was a result of these terrible blogs when it was that darling HCI guy who “accidentally clicked on something harmless”, as he professed. Damn him, such a bloody flirt. You see, living in an over-protective environment subjects you to extreme suspicion and not to mention about the times when…Man, I’m being dictated and I’m staying neutral even though the negative connotations.
Its so safe like that man, just go with the flow and you’re fine. Hoho, and now they love me because I’ve turned so agreeable by the turn of the new year. Well, you see, I cooked dinner the day those shameless bastards came prancing into my house cos those useless crokroaches simply refuse to leave their cards. You know, I swore never to play cards again cos its so lame. Nevermind, I don’t have a life right now, not even a single atom remaining. Now I don’t myspace nor youtube anymore. The most is I read and stone, uh that’s life.
Ho, so I was alighting from the train when I saw this curiously interesting advertisement by the Dove Self-esteem Fund, if my memory doesn’t fail me. The one with the cheesy kid song, I see your true colours shining true…and something unpronouncable. Aha, and they wrote, 15 is the age where most girls resort to destructive eating disorders. Heh, I’m turning 15 and I’m immune cos I got through it and its so damned childish. Mind you, the things I brand childish, you gotta really take note not to mention it in my face else I’ll chomp you up.
Meh, those bloody bimbos really ruin the name of the once elitist eating disorders. They go shrilling and giggling in a voice not intended to be heard,” Oh am I fat, am I fat?!” on a daily basis of not less than the frequency of their voice and ask those interesting rhetorical questions that make you wanna butt them in the face. Let me tell you, true sufferers will die than to admit that they are dieting for the fear of being chauffered to the doc, once you broadcast it, you are just a godammed poseur. But then again, what’s there so appealing to pose about? Mind my being cheesy but its really fatalistic and destructive, don’t try.
And if you’re painfully drawing up an analogy to my post, sorry, I’m not directing this to anyone. If you just so happen to be beeding bimbo that fits the bill, sorry. But then again, few would admit to being bimbo, if you happen to be like that, then you’re a poseur yet again. How funny right? I read this paradox in a book, not a direct quote cos I’ve returned it: To express something, you need to form it in words but something truly meaningful cannot be expressed in words as words are mere meaningless attachments to reality. Get it? Funny eh?
Okay, gotta go. 3 sciences, geog and LA tests coming up ahead and I’m damned cos I refuse to study and I’m not going to. Sad, but cross your fingers and wish for the best. Have a nice day and bye.