To the BATMOBILE
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Saturday, October 22, 2005
It has been two weeks since the end of your exams. Two mindless, pointless, (relatively sober) frantic weeks of attempting to accomplish something "fun" (a.k.a. two weeks of your daily life - or it may be just me). ONLY a couple of weeks and I find myself back in the position I so detest, slouched over a Starbucks table (and inadvertebly getting yet another coffee stain on my shirt) in Parkway Parade, nursing an empty cup of Berried Treasure which I picked up from the bin on the way there, whining over the complete uselessness of knowing how reactive magnesium is compared to something-ium. Barely ten hours ago, I was stretched out fully on the rooftop of Takashimaya, eyebrows well groomed "at my sister's insistence" I would be quick to proclaim, though admittedly in recent weeks I was beginning to wonder where half my forehead was going, where my eyes were drinking in the ambience of the evening Orchard Road scene and I found myself enjoying the somewhat pleasant company (pride dictates that I cannot admit more than thatl). But with literally a little under 140 hours of study to come within the next 2 weeks, I was desperate to enjoy what little I could before I was thrown ruthlessly into Hell to suffer the lashings of Math and Chemistry. My parents realised this as well, and hence my attempts at enjoyment were shortlived and they kicked me out the house prematurely to "get some studying done" (twenty questions from my Chemistry Ten Year Series in a couple of hours work does not constitute "some" I'm quite sure). I confess the sight of my father, chest hairs bristling, moustache (I love the way "moustache" rolls off the tongue - readers be aware I mean the word "moustache") aflame, grating out the ultimatum to pass or face brutal torture/scolding/a brief rubdown with his coarse body-hairs. If I go into any further detail of what trouble I'd get myself into if woe betide I fail my re-exams, or get shunted out of the GEP, it might be labelled Pornographic. I shall desist to continue and retreat back to my sanctity of my (disgustingly colourful) bed to utter my final prayers and softly weep gentle tears (the horror of lack of writer's block!) to garner some deity's pity though I fear even divine intervention may be too weak for a cause such as this. "Please don't let my feet fail me now..." (provided the day comes where there is need to run with much haste towards the paradise that is Norway to meet my scandinavian sweetheart) TO THE BATMOBILE |
The Writer
highly confidential Martin Butler, or affectionally known to others as "Butler", "Butlerman", or just "Butt". -Most eligible bachelor of 2004-every year henceforth - step aside Mr.Clooney -Doesn't particularly enjoy much anymore having been desensitized as part of a cruel torturous regime a.k.a IB... -Dislikes everything he doesn't like... Nov 8th - Remember the date! MSN - butlerwantsu@hotmail.com (Add with caution) Archives
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a tense atmosphere of hot air, greasy stains and the endless grumbles of the engine - and that's only me 
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