If everything's in the mind, then ha ha, I am not a virgin.
Anyway.
The air was like kisses this morning. Gentle. Having slept for the first time in 30 hours, I felt... invincible. Like I could do anything I want and would not feel screwed.
Only for a moment.
You know feelings, especially happiness, don't last. Again, no exception.
The next thing I knew, I had forgotten clean about my math homework, something to do with logarithm which I still suck in, and was shivering.
I really, really, really hate copying from my friends. It makes me feel like a total asshole.
Today I am an asshole. Personally. I was an asshole so many times before, maybe this doesn't matter anymore.
Literature lesson was mind-blowing boring. Angel (barf, barf) my subject teacher, ordered some girls to act out the characters in Midsummer Night's Dream, that 'masterpiece' from Shakespeare whom I hate so much.
I love Literature, but I don't like it to be connected to that pale bald unpretty Shakespeare. Literature is too beautiful, too beautiful.
So, when other eyes were fixed at the front, my eyes were staring into the blank space of the whiteboard. I started imagining. Thoughts wondering. Fantasizing. Acting. All in the head.
All in the head. Like what I'm doing now. Relaxed. Relief.
You know, feelings like relief, won't stay long.
Suddenly I was reminded of a middle-aged man who had a mop for hair, trying to act smart in the gym, which I went to this afternoon.
He was there before me. Ironically, he looked dry. No signs of exhaustion. No signs of life.
And then he approached me. Slowly. Dangerously. Like how my mom always creeps into my room before letting out an "WAAAKE UPPPPP!!!!" which never fails to scare the life out of me every morning and send me to the bathroom to shower and brush my teeth.
And.
And.
AND!!!
And he told me off. LOUDLY. Said that I was cycling on the stationary bike the wrong way. THE WRONG WAY.
He. Told. ME. Off. In front of the hot and masculine girls and guys.
Because he THOUGHT I was cycling the wrong way. Ha ha ha.
I know how to cycle. You just keep doing "it" all over. Again and again. Revolution after revolution. Stationary. Cycle. Just keep cycling.
I'd hang myself if he was right. Mwahaha, and he was NOT.
I have never seen him working out in the gym before. I'm sure he's a newbie. His bouncing butt, and his beer belly are convincing evidences. I've been there for the 1856th time, and had cycled for 235456 miles. Gallons of sweat.
That Mister Portobelly Mushroomhead is nothing.
He deserves a kick on his jiggly ass.
That is, one of my wandering imagination right now. Imagination is useless.
In actuality, I did these:
1) Looked at him.
2) Smiled.
3) Said, "I know how to cycle, but I think you don't know how to observe. Look...AGAIN."
4) *Demonstrated* how I cycle to him.
[He giggled. That was horrific. He didn't laugh - he GIGGLED.]
5) Said, "Now back off, before I make you."
[Emphasis the word "make".]
6) Smiled.
.
.
.
.
.
I really did them all. And he turned pale. Skin, extraordinarily pale. Blood sapped out of his body and evaporated. He should get a tan.
.
.
.
.
I smiled. He went away. With no trickling of sweat.
I ruined his work out which I'm sure he didn't at all. He was perfectly dry. I sucked him dry. His blood, dry.
7:17 p.m. - 2004-06-29
Recent entries:
kristian - 2008-09-04
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