The glorious and triumphant return of now-19 year old Blogger, the revival of a once-grand and dare I say influential webspace that produced daily content, and the crippling anxiety of a young woman who no longer has any time or motivation to write, and feels like any ability she had acquired in the past through repetition and sheer will alone is now slowly slipping out of her grasp. Brief history of the Blog and Blogger can be found here.

Here be personal journal entries, observations, slices of life, questions and conclusions, as well as exploration of social and political topics seen through the lens of a Malaysian Muslim, feminist, lesbian, Marxist, and horse enthusiast.

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Rock Out (With Your Cock Out)

I cut my nails last night. They now not only look bald, but are pretty much useless. I mean, can't scratch, can't use their almighty powers to magically open a bag of junk of food anymore, can't... do other stuff. I feel naked, which was what Hanna told me she felt when she cut hers, and I don't know why I'm starting this post by talking about nails. My nails look like Humpty Dumpty.

In the grand scheme of things, the day was simply that: a day. There were ups and downs, one after another and I'm not getting a break from life, so I don't know why I felt like today, being the first day of school, would be any different. I don't know why I thought being in Form 4 would feel any different, you know, emotionally, not academically. If I had a grand notion that the day was going to start to the swell of instrumental music acting as the soundtrack of my life, gradually increasing in tempo until an upbeat song about teenage, coming-of-ageness starts up and I get dressed while the screen splices up to other people, also getting dressed for the first day of school, I was sorely disappointed. (I have these grand notions every year, so it's not a cause for concern or anything.) 

So there is nothing to be said about the day because nothing happened. Was it a breezy day? No. Started off with a hell of an Assembly because someone has it out on me, it seems: not only am I alone and partnerless again this semester, not only am I on duty at the freaking labs, I am also placed at the door right at the front of the Forms 4 and 5 section, which is generally populated by... how do I put this delicately? Assholes, for the most part. And from there on, you can guess the gist of the rest of my day. Duty at the labs? It was scorching hot and I only thought of going under the shade of the teachers' roofed car park halfway through.

And then there was the class switching. I won't even get into that. Mainly because I wasn't involved and I couldn't care less. We got our textbooks and a word of warning would have been nice, thanks. Like, warning: bring your big ass bag to carry all your books. Or, warning: inject Hulk DNA into arms for superhuman strength as superhuman strength is exactly what you'll need to carry said books. I was in an okay shape by the end of the day, despite mostly everything, and Nisa and I just couldn't stop laughing most of the time. Maybe we found everything funny because they actually were. I mean, whose idea was it to make us Form 4s? Whose idea was it to make us learn all of this stuff and take SPM and all of that? Whose idea was it that we are actually mentally and emotionally qualified to even pass PMR? Funny shit right there. 

I took two trips to my mom's car because I thought that that was the better option over dislocating or bruising a shoulder on the first day. Does not sound ideal. Anyways, after that, I had an orthodontist appointment to attend and when I got back, I finally sorted through my textbooks to find... my Chemistry textbook missing in action. It's... strange. I mean, I think if this had happened to me in the past, I would have freaked out a lot more so three cheers, several kudos and a dozen candy canes to me, because my maturing process has also included an increase in problem solving skills! Huzzah! Or maybe just a decrease in anxiety, but I believe both of that sounds like pretty good causes for celebration.

Just two more days until the depression that is First Week will be over. I still keep a Worry Book because it's easier. Habits and all of that. But when the tides of the weekend wash upon the shores of stinkin' Friday, I will rejoice and... probably stop talking like this.

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