a whirling cesspool
am pretty much a no-lifer ever since uni started.
i don't...
+ lazily browse thru racks and racks of mags at kino
+ SHOP. at all (ok, save for the occasional window)
+ paint my nails!
+ or even buff them. sigh indeed they're in such ruthless neglect.
+ have any major crushes. period.
+ have a clue to the latest zara/mango/topshop collection (!!!)
+ feel so hip anymore
+ know what to blog.
instead, i have...
+ blemished skin
+ weird sleeping hours
+ gone back to biting my nails (can't help it, all that reading...)
+ an incessant urge to tear my lecture notes into shreds
+ pretty much accustomed myself to being alone most of the time.
+ read through most of my notes... no easy feat! *cheers*
+ compelled myself to be nice. and friendly. to everyone (esp cute guys! *lol)
+ become a couch potato
my only luxury over the weekend? 2 hours of non-stop soccer action
everything else cease to exist
except to savour the enthralling display of skills
as ron cajoled, coaxed the ball to match his blistering pace
the accurate long volleys, intelligent passings from the roaring midfield
defensive heinze's effective tackles, graceful and swift
anticipation
of that wondrous moment when chances turn into goals as the sacred white line is crossed... and the ball slams into the back of the net, spinning
celebratory whoops, hugs, piggybacks, slapping on backs
bruising of inflated egos and the indignant male pride
sparking off the temporal flare of rage
the quintessential spitting moments
brash, unbridled outpouring of raw emotions from the players, fans, manager
nothing comes between me and my mufc
xian/wen/edna/emmo - i miss you guys... LOADS!!!

