Saturday, March 31, 2007
♥ Saturday, March 31, 2007
I'm really, really tired.
I know I've said I've seen the light, but hey, that doesn't mean I can't complain.
I'm really really tired.
For the past 5 days I've been sleeping for 5 and a half hours max each night. Maximum. Sometimes I'd get up in the middle of the night to just turn on the laundry machine or to hang the laundry out because it will stink if you leave it in there for too long. Sometimes I'd get up in the middle of the night to find a thinner blanket. Sometimes I'd get up in the middle of the night and start reading Chicken Soup, or Sarah Dessen, or doing my homework and projects and stuff like that. It sucks, and it sucks. It's a conclusion.
I haven't cleaned my room and all the stuff in the boxes I moved from BS. I haven't sorted the laundry out properly. I haven't ironed a gazillion tonnes of clothes. I haven't washed my shoes. I haven't washed the toilet and the shower. I haven't attempted to kill all the insects in my house. I haven't cleaned the cooking place for ages. I haven't mopped, or swept, or clean the windows.
And I haven't started filing. I haven't started copying my chinese thing, I haven't finished Math PT, I haven't started Geog PT, I haven't done the SL time plan and sent it to Dorcas because I slept through most of the time after I reached home, and now I'm sleepy again. I haven't practiced for the Esplanade performance on the 7th, nor SYF. I haven't fulfilled school and house activities. I haven't cut out my scores and paste them on another sheet of paper and put them into the black folder. I haven't altered my uniform. I haven't bought goggles with degrees, and I haven't swam for the week.
There are so many things I haven't done, and my dad is coming tomorrow. It's like, everytime he comes I'll fall sick because he has TOO MUCH laundry, TOO MUCH messiness, TOO MUCH paper all over the place, and TOO MUCH apple.
I usually fall sick because i have to do the extra work, and at the end of the day I feel like how I'm feeling now, I can't even open my eyes as I type, and my finger muscles rely on the last of the enrgy in my fats to type and hold my body upright. It's worse because he just comes and messes up the whole place, and you clean it up again, and he comes back and he messes it up again.
You can even FORGET about even TRYING to clean up after him, because it is IMPOSSIBLE.
I'm serious. I'm really, really, serious. I fall sick every single time he comes.
I need a life. PRONTO. I need to go out and have some fun.
I need to partay.
