It is quite a dreadful thing to have a mind that doesn’t want to focus on one single sustained pursuit, dooming one to a life of mediocrity. Tonight more than other nights my mind is woefully determined not to be drawn in by any form of activity available to me, including, believe it or not, watching Sherlock or Parks and Recreation and playing any one of my newly acquired games (Bastion, Psychonauts, Amnesia, from this awesome Humble Bundle). I have fifty wiki tabs open because I can’t understand how the internet works and Google doesn’t want to offer it to me in one single page, but I’m not reading them because I’m just that hopeless. Kenneth and other relevant personnel in Open Lectures will send me accordingly to my death soon.
WHY WON’T THE WORLD ENTERTAIN ME? I cry.
So I’m left to my own devices. So be it. I will now begin a lengthy narrative on some choice selections of most mundane topics to write about.
Driving: because almost everyone of age needs driving lessons even though the chances of them getting a car in the foreseeable future are as small as the hole in a needle. I lurch recklessly about, going up to gear four and stalling at that gear in the middle of a busy road. I hit my head hard on the dashboard. My instructor almost gets flung out of the window. The police comes, minutes later, to inspect damages. I am responsible for tens of thousands of dollars worth of damages.
I kid. I’m actually pretty good at it. My flaw is laziness because I don’t see the point of changing gears up to three and back to two when you can see a red traffic light twenty metres ahead, but I will do it anyway since my instructors tell me the testers need to see proof that I can do it, and that when I get my license I can go ahead and remain in two if I’m just that lazy. Which I am.
My secret? I swallow.
That was weak of me. I apologise.
My secret is, or at least I think it is, you know that horrible movie Snakes on a Plane? Where the dude lands a plane safely purely from all the plane flying he does on his PSP? Something like that. Except with Daytona.
My sister gifted me with a bit of interesting trivia. Apparently when you are holding hands with someone taller, your hand automatically takes the position behind the other person’s hand.
“I’m just used to having my hand in that position!!” I am not very pleased.
In return I told her that the length from your wrist to your elbow is the length of your sole. We then concurred on how disgusting our brother’s arm length was. It’s one of our long-established agreements.
We also found bedbugs in the hotel we stayed in while we were in Malacca. I ended up rubbing insect repellent over every exposed pore of my skin, as well as my pillow. It’s like camouflage paint, or like that little boy Luke hiding in the hotel ballroom where witches have that grand meeting of theirs.
“You should move to Canada,” Jing Xian said, in a completely unrelated response. It’s kind of relevant because Malaysia is terribly hot, like Singapore, and I can’t work in this heat.
“Southern literature makes you permanently feel like there are flies buzzing around your sweat-laden back,” I told him, in another unrelated response.