Wednesday, March 14, 2007
It's not a silly little moment It's not the storm before the calmNobody's gonna come and save you We pulled too many false alarms
Symposium was, by and large, okay. Didn't speak much at all. Cheronne and Chanyi got best delegation and NY got the trophy. Kudos guys! You guys were great (: Us on the other hand, slacked around and didn't talk a lot of sense. Haha. Nevermind, I suppose I was never made for this kind of thing really. Maybe I wasn't made to be this way or know the people I know, or do the things I do, or think the things I think, or eat the things I eat! I am beginning to suspect I was never made for this world, or this country, at least! Am also starting to find the idea of a hermitic existence very attractive indeed. Haha, what do you think? (:
I'd hate for my year to turn out like this though, seeing that I was planning on having lots of fun and having a great season. When I'm on the field, I forget a bit, and it's so much better. I think one of the reasons why I love softball so much is that it's very cathartic, or at least, temporarily so. I remember in Sec 1 how my whole life used to revolve around softball, and how now, it doesn't anymore. Instead it seems to have split itself into several different orbits, sometimes not even in ways that I can control. They say that there's this Universal Secret, and they call it the Law of Attraction. However, some people also insist that laws are made to be broken, and there are some people who can't stop themselves from getting into trouble with the Law. Anyway, it's not like I really believe in all of this hokum, even though there is probably a modicum of truth in it, seeing as it's rooted in positive thinking shit. :D Who is to know? Who. Is. To. Know.
Someone once said I had a Messianic complex, haha. I wonder how true that is? I'd fancy some saving myself. I WISH SOMEONE WOULD HIT ME JUST TO HURT ME. In the middle of the song, because it is a live recording, there will be someone coughing in the background, and a baby will cry just before the chorus, and glasses will clink, and promises will be made over pasta in tomato- and alfredo- drenched conviction. Then, there will be you: alone, the heat of the spotlight causing your irises to wane, heart to deliquesce.
We're going down
And you know that we're doomed
My dear we're
Slow dancing in a burning room. Don't you think we ought to know by now?
- bad stomachey feeling.
by @ 6:59 PM