My besties just rang me up this morning excitedly asking if I’ve received my results for this semester. They told me theirs and I felt a little shaky. I mean, what if I don’t deliver perfectly this time around?
Nah. I hope not.
Grabbing my cell immediately, I punched in the numbers of dad’s contact and waited in anticipation. Nope, not getting any respond. Whatever, Dubby and my besties then assured me that I’ll score a straight again like I always do. That helped a little.
After what felt like an entire day, dad’s text messaged beeped in.
And that was when my world disintegrated. Yes, plummeting down to the depths of no tomorrow.
No more a perfect score. No more a flat 4.0 CGPA for me.
Shut up all you morons who think this ain’t a big deal.
It is to me.
You lost an eraser. You cry and rant?
No big deal to me.
Perhaps, what I don’t know about that miserable eraser is that your late grandfather whom you love so much, gave it to you with his dying breath.
So, my B+ for Film Studies?
A MASSIVE DETERIORATION
A PAINFUL EXPERIENCE
Oh well, I feel 10% stupider. My intelligence has just been depleted.. just like the ozone layer.
Fuck. Oh wait, I don’t know what that means. I is stupid. *groans*
It just reenacts the experience of my SPM results. That God-forsaken A2 for Bahasa Malaysia. Yeah well, same thing goes again. The B+ is just like an A2. My string of A’s has been tainted by my utter carelessness. Or perhaps my stupidity.
Gahh. I couldn’t care less.
Why?
FOR i IS STEWPID.
I hate packing my luggage for trips regardless of how much I love holidays! It sucks thinking what to bring or what to wear; Jess is more of a person who gets dressed on the spot, depending on her vibe or what she’s feeling inside at that present time.
I would rather sit through an Algebra and Calculus test right now than to pack my luggage. Yes, I dread packing.. so?
That is seriously just HOW MUCH i hate to pack.
*groan*
toodles! Leaving for Ipoh soon!
When would you actually think that you will reach the point of turning senile? Alright, here’s the dirt: I was just taking my time on my cosy bed to paint my nails in a different colour this week. And dad was busy re-affixing the loosened parquet rectangles that came out. So yeah, as I was minding my own business an he obviously minding his, I heard this coming out from his mouth. I swear!
“Good that I discovered you!”
uh-huh. What was that?? Alright, I dismissed it. Perhaps he was just talking on the phone. The next thing was….
“Good boy. Thank you for staying there”
Uhmm. Huh? Wuhh? Gawd. I certainly hope I was hearing things. Whatever. I peered across the room and this was what I saw:
This cannot be true. My father cannot be talking to himself. No wait, talking to the parquet floor. I did not just witness nor hear that. NO . FUCKING . WAY.
He then kept asking me to search for other spots where the parquet tiles could be loose. Like I would know?
I would not crawl all over the floor like a bloodhound sniffing out loose parquet tiles for you (nor anyone else) thank you very much.
Alright, back to painting my nails.
And suddenly, after 15 minutes or so…
“See? I saved at least a hundred dollars putting you all back together!”
” Don’t come out again, ok?”
That’s it. Pretty freaky – I’m outta here!