The Glorious Days, Back At School.

You know, I've just realised I don't want to leave Secondary School
Life.


I have it all made in Secondary School, Status; as the Chair of My
CCA, Power; as one of the loudest but correct (most of the time)
mouths in School.

I'm in the best class, I'm the best at what I do, I've got friends,
weird stalkers, admirers, people who I know that know my name,
people I don't know but know my name, I've got people to hangout
with, I don't have to worry about my studies
I don't have to worry about cash, I seriously don't have to worry
about much at all; it's all a blast.


God, I just realized how much I missed the routine, when I woke
up again at bloody 6AM yesterday, for the first O level paper.
Waking up too early, with too little sleep (4hours to be precise),
the stumbling around the house, pitched in darkness, half asleep,
slapping on that old familiar uniform; hair product; that old
familiar routine.

You know, getting on the bus and having an old class mate
chirpily greet you 'HI DICK!' when you're only half awake,
worrying about your E Math, gets you in the groove like
no one else can.

Similarly, heading off to School and proclaiming
'We're all going to DIE!
_____We're all GOING TO FUCKING DIE!!'
and having the prophecy fulfilled, when at 1400Hours,
(nearly) everyone in the hall simultaneously cursed their luck
(and the social studies teacher) after having checked their papers
and realising that the questions coming out for the essay was
precisely what the Teacher had told us NOT to STUDY.


But then again, having been screwed over by Teachers doesn't
hurt as much. Thankfully, I remembered enough (hopefully) about
Sri Lanka and the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam to pull me
through.

You know, the day wraps up just nicely when you reflect upon it,
realise that the people haven't forgotten you. Namely excitable
girls; who'll greet you in the bus to brighten up a dreary day,
girls spastic enough to declare 'I miss you'
-well, flirting is good innit? As long as its harmless and your
boyfriend doesn't see fit to rearrange my behind- and dudes
who're cool enough to take time off their girlfriends to chat.

Simply sweet.



And you know what, I've been accused of being,
The most Magical, Spiritual, Clandestine, And The Most Inexorable
Flirt.

Who will ever change him?

After much admonishing, will he ever change?
Will he start making use of the raw muscle, trapped in the cranium,
which refuses generate any creative energy to instead focus on the
more sensible recitation of words, numbers, characters; information.

Screw it, I need to start thinking like a drugged up hobo man.
English Exam's on the 9th and I need to replicate the insanity
that produced this masterpiece if I'm ever going to get an A1.

In fact, I think I'm going to have to depend on drugs to get me into
the same stupor I was when I produced that; because very simply,
I had flu when I wrote that piece and getting drugged up did help
tremendously in writing something a insane as that.

Someone fix me up with some drugs, please?
English Paper's tomorrow.




Fame, power, fortune, status.
I have it all in secondary school.

I don't ever want to leave.