It's been a while since I last blogged. I have been a little busy with school and stuff. But after you've had about half a day of inorganic chemistry, to which I share a peculiarly high level of hatred, you begin to lose yourself to the heavenly hands of sleep. But that cannot be done because you know you have a deadline to meet. A deadline set by yourself but nevertheless a deadline. One man once said: "I love deadlines. I love the whooshing sound they make as they go by." The man is indeed Douglas Adams. Even though I would one day like to be like him, you know a successful author of an outrageously funny sci-fi series, I like to meet my deadlines. Or try to, in the least. Finally, what I'm trying to say is by posting this blog, I hope to wake myself up to finish a little more of chemistry before I call it a day.
My birthday is coming up. I'm not excited. I think I lost the Oh-my-birthday-yay-yay-yay excitement long back. I think 7th grade was the last time I was excited about my birthday. A sense of cynicism set in me after that, for some reason. It continues to exist. Although, now it is more controlled. Sarcasm is a tool I'd like to use all my life to do whatever I want to do.
School is getting over. Like for real. No more being a current student of P.S. Senior Secondary School after a few more months. I will then be part of an Alumni Association. Again, not excited.
College is round the corner. Where the living hell will I be going to for college? I wish I knew. I really do. But, strangely enough, I am not excited about that either.
A working theory for my no excitement at anything is that I've had too much inorganic chemistry in my life. I am hoping to get rid of inorganic chemistry as soon as possible. Off you go inorganic! That is also no exciting. So clearly, this working theory is wrong.
Maybe one day I'll research more about my lack of excitement. Maybe I'll get a Nobel Prize for my research. But that would be a little off because my research is rather self centered. Not that my research wouldn't deserve the Nobel Prize.
I love typographic errors. It is a good way to hide my bad spelling.
"Ha! Wring spelling again!"
"Who said? That is a typographic error."
"Oh. Sorry about the wrong accusation."
"That's not quite alright. You will soon be contacted by my lawyer about a legal issue of you causing me psychological pain."
"..."
One day I hope to do that.
I am pleased to announce that I have woken myself up enough to sustain a few more hours.
Arthi
