The Ranting Continues...

Yesterday didn't turn out so well, huh? Yeah me... But as one must always induce positive thinking, one shall perceive that the rantings of yesterdays as manure to tomorrow's outlet. I think it was a politician who said that, maybe even a Chinese business man because I'm sure as hell that manure today is still manure tomorrow.

So pretty much, I got home in one piece yesterday. Drove all the way in one hand only and my left hand too. I had to use my right hand to hold my forehead up and those darn salty water out of my eyes, lest I'll have to stop by the side of the road and bawl like a baby. So I'm emotional. Sue me.

So yes, there's every possibility that I might get the failing grade on my thesis. Since we all charitable people, I'm not going to rant out on how I didn't bother meeting my supervisor (wrote about that already, go figure). Especially if my previous supervisors got a wind of me. I imagine them metaphorically crucifying me on the altar of the IT faculty but teachers being teachers, I would take a real crucifixion over an 'F'. At least I can die from crucifixion.

So I have one week to ferment at the pit of my stomach. No biggie. If I'm not too genius, maybe I'll work on that database my other course wants me to do. Me being me I can't guarantee I'll make it a working one, much lest hand it in time at all.

The three big differences in this is that the movie thingy was just a database file, the lecturer is nicer and I have two other people that going to fall down with me if I screw this up. I may not care if my world ends between tomorrow and twelve seconds after I end this blog but I make an acquaintance suffer the wrath of the 'F', I'll roll over and die first. At least my group has a reason of fatality to excuse my lack of progress.

Passing over the hazards of school, I guess I did feel something close to better after the snot drive (wiped the steering wheel before I left the car). Got home just after sunset prayers, hung around the kitchen table area until *Ayah and *Genius (my littler brother) got home.

Interactions with Ayah just got low but not grudgingly. Frankly, I try not to care. Then he asked if I was okay. Now really, a man who raised you from diapers and still paying for your petrol money is sufficiently capable of reading your mind. More so since I still got red eyes from the boo-hoos.

Just for being a jerk, I kept eye contact away and ignored the question until my father asked me a third time around. I supposed a teeny weenie part of me just wanted to throw hints at him that I was capable of lying to my own father (like I haven't done it with various types of well-practiced faces before).

So I just said I had a slight fever. Being that it rained that morning, it sounded justified so he just left. Ayah, like every other male in this Confucian-ingested province, brushed it off and went to his business. I can't show emotions to my father. Firstly, I'm not pretty when I cry and secondly, I scream when there's finally somebody to see me cry (not good for the neighborhood).

Thirdly, he's a guy. Guys can't handle emotions, as Oprah had taught us. And I don't talk emotions with a guy. Maybe I would but it'll be in a bitterly joking manner that's worth its weight of sarcasm in bricks. I drop a lot of hints to my family but maybe I'm just bad at hinting to them that I got emotional problems. If I were to hit Ayah with a big sign that says "I'm the Stupid One", he probably still wouldn't budge.

But hey, he's in the dark and I'm in dire jeopardy, which incidentally, I'm going to bury myself in bed clothes until D-Day comes. I am not going to talk to anybody about this, lest if it's an authority figure. But I do plan to rant something out a little bit more, not here, but definitely in a chat room.

I think I'll steal some 50 cent coins around the house and fork it over to the cyber cafe and meet the gangs at GW cyber community. They're e not really friends but they share a little interest with me so I'm going to screw this over to them anyway because I'm anonymous. Just blur out a line or two, hear them chat back "Oh you poor baby...," then blow this over.

I consider it healthy exercise to finally get something out. Otherwise I'll have to pull over on the side of the road in a car then bawl like a baby.