Writing on a Tuesday Night

I have read approximately 10 pages of my history notebook, but somehow, it felt as if I had read a hundred pages already. I want to say this to my history paper: Come at me, bro.

Ironically, I'm writing on a Tuesday night. For the past few months, I have observed my writing patterns and Tuesday happens to be the day where I cannot write at all! I just realized that I had my English test on a Tuesday... It's all clear to me now, the fact that I couldn't write this morning was because today's a freaking Tuesday! I will not accept a failure! I WILL NOT! God, please don't let me fail. Of all the things I could write about, I chose the one thing that I couldn't describe: my best childhood memory. I disagreed with the title of the essay at the end of my essay. FML.

Macadamia bit me again just now. Haha. I left my hand inside the blanket it was sleeping in... Serves me right! She's unusually defensive today though; I wonder if it's because I applied some insect repellent or it's because my hands smell like crab =-=  Lazy little hedgehog is sleeping again. So much for being nocturnal huh? She sleeps 24 hours a day! Not a sound from the little fella. Thanks to her, my biological clock is set to wake me up at around five in the morning; I clean her poop and wipe her pee after I fill her food bowl with cat food. It usually takes about five minutes... Unless she stepped on her poop the night before and I have to scrub-scrub-scrub the floor! Anyway, I find her lovely albeit she has bad table etiquette and can be quite the grump. Hpmh.

Grandma--like always-- is pronouncing Macadamia's name wrongly. She calls her Macedonia, a country in southeastern Europe. Ah, grandma~ she calls my neighbour Soleha (a maid we use to have) when her name is  actually Zaleha.

My next blog post will probably be about the lies I want to tell, so be prepared for an entry full of lies! Lies or not though, they're all related to my current situation.

Is it the mating season for crickets again? They are really loud today! I checked my windows to see if they were shut because even my room echoed with the shrill creaking sounds of horny male crickets; it's kind of repulsive when the relaxing sound of nature is actually millions of insects and animals trying to get laid. Yikes. Let's ignore the fact for now.

I know that it's very random of me to want to include something about my love life in a post like this... But what the heck, here's the last line of the traditional ballad Scarborough Fair:

When he has done and finished his work.

Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme:

Oh, tell him to come and he'll have his shirt,

And he shall be a true lover of mine. 

 

 

Scarborough Fair