This week has been a VERY big struggle. I've been dizzy like a mad pregnant woman who is about to do labor in the next hour. It seems that God was more like telling me that going to school with your panged head will never be a good idea. Never. Except on times when you really really do need it. Like on the day of your demo or something. Whatever.
Tuesday was the HATE DAY.
It all began when we were all instructed to go down for the Morning Rites..and good Lord! I was sweating like a nympho who just had his casual sex with 67 and a half men. My head was spinning like crazy, and all I want to do is just sleep, sleep, sleep.
I mean, hello?! I was supposed to be happy on that day. I mean, we'll have Geometry as first period, and...there. Ok, so what if Geometry is the only reason I go to school? As a matter of fact, it's not only Geometry. It's Chem..or Trigo..or even History.
And it lasted ALL damn day. I even thought that I would end throwing up those chunks of food I ate yesterday(because I didn't eat anything on that day because of hardcore bullimia).
And the irony of it was Geometry made it all worse by giving me a quiz on something I can't remember, on which I ended up flunking it. 7/10 will never be good. NEVERR!
And here I present to you another pile of dilemmas..
a. I lost my I.D.. And the ID replacement Form and the principal's secretary will never be the same.
b. And exams are next week. And I still don't get that angle of depression and elevation thingy. How about me getting depressed because I can't eat? That's a 360-degree to you.
c. My mild tuberculosis is killing me like crazy. And I'm not happy that I lost my voice. I sound very much like Sir Al. In fact, I can make a good impression of him right now. Like you can hear it.
d. Bullimia. Bullimia. Bullimia.
e. To swim or not to swim? This applies to both going back to the clubhouse and doing it again but this time with Coach Rudy/Philip, or to join the Juniors Swimming Team. Okay, so the Juniors Swimming Team part may not really be all that real..but hey. It still could.
f. To be a lifter or to not be a lifter? So I'll get this really cool jacket with the word "LIFTER" on it, but I won't get to mingle with someone I know there. In fact, I would probably be a hardcore loner if I decide to be a lifter. But the jacket!! Oh no!
g. I'll surely flunk History to pieces. AAARGGH!
h. I'm still on the height of my suicidal thoughts. But the thought of the exams next week is making me throw up instead of wanting to kill myself.
And now. I have an embarassing moment to tell.
I was supposed to wait for Monica lately, but it all ended when I decided to pass by the canteen to buy a bottle of Tropicana so I can swallow up my pills(not pregnancy. like someone would even hook up on me. Nobody won't even touch me, for God's sake.). And oh-my-god. When I turned left and saw that curled up turon that's looking as if it swam in a sea of fat oil, the vomit that I've been storing up all week in my tummy had suddenly risen up to the throat level, and I have to rush to the washroom to empty my mouth up. That's so like..eew.
So there. Sorry Monica. It was a real burden to spend my way home with an artificial dinosaur and a human-ized pubic hair. At least M.S. wasn't there. If she was, 'our' parents would send us out again because we're too noisy. And still haven't got my training schedule. UNTIL NOW. haha..
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