I Like It Rough

Weeks of toil, thinking and ting tong tiang will soon come to an end. I'm leaving for my final paper in a few minutes. And after, I will be bursting out. Once more. I really hope it's the end I ever see of these papers.

The first and second paper went far better than I could ever have dared hope. So all is well. I think. Unless I'm really fucking inept at gauging circumstance.

The next paper is one which everyone brushes off as nonsense. Nonsensically easy, that is; because most people I know passed it. It's only a small itch to most of my other classmates. One which they scratched rather successfully but turned out to be the equivalent of chicken pox for me. Cibai.

But I've always found it to be the toughest section. Mental block? Underlying psychological reasons? Has it anything to do with the fact that I played with dolls growing up? Fuck.

In my defense, I'd like to think I'm not stupid. It's just that my fantastic mind works in ways markedly different from the average dumbass medical student. That means all you who passed, bitches.

Ah. The joy of subconscious rage release. Ho ho ho.

But fuck all that, I'm just gonna shower, get dressed and go do it. Fuck everything else. If all fails, let's just hope the first two papers will compensate for this one. Tolonglah, puki ayam.

Have kinda lost all drive to slog anymore. Am drained, saturated. Spent mostly the entire night blasting Disturbed (Fear is the song of the moment, go listen) on the iPod and jumping up and down in my living room, kicking my sofa from time to time.

The curtains were closed, of course.

Ah, they joy of closure. It will all be over the next time I log on to check my mail.

Will be reacquainted with my very best friend, Mr. Fridgepack, after one whole month of unavoidable detoxification. Oh how I look forward to violating your small tinny hole of a mouth once again.

I promise I will go through the whole of you before I depart for the post-exam party in the pub. That way, I will be so smashed I wouldn't need to spend much more in there. I'm saving the money for new sneakers and earphones, see.

So Mr. Fridgepack, welcome me with open arms. Look not away, but accept me into your cool embrace. I know I have forsaken you, but it could not be helped. Please understand. If I don't do well, pass, graduate and start making money (and uh, yeah, help a few people along the way, that too), it will be the last I ever see of you. How will I afford you then?

I know how you like it; I'm not going to be gentle this time.

I won't stop till I see blood, baby.

This entry was posted by tsh, on Wednesday, August 17, 2005. You can bitch back.