All Aboard.

You can see the bus inching closer and closer to your bus stop. Which is unusually crowded with...strangers? No, all of these faces are somewhat familiar, and you feel at ease around them.
The bus finally gets here, and everybody clambers in. You pay your fare and find a seat, as does everyone else.

And then an unexplainable feeling of peace, calm and happiness hits you in the face. Around these people, you feel like nothing is wrong with the world; nothing could ever be. You look around and you see them smiling, and happily chatting away about nothing in particular.

What seemed like the best bus ride you've ever had, comes to an end forty-five or so minutes later, when the bus creeps and finally halts at your destination.
Surprisingly, everyone in the bus gets up and leaves at this very stop. Again, you're in the middle of a large crowd of familiar faces at a bus stop.
Slowly, the crowd disperses. All the faces disappear as the people slowly trickle away in their respective directions, most likely never to be seen again.

And you're all alone at your bus stop, wondering what the hell happened.

-----------------------

No, Radiohead did not bring this about. No, this is not yet another one of my wacko dreams.

The thought has been gnawing away at my conscience for a while now: The notion that people don't matter. The temporariness of it all just, I dunno, frustrates me.


"Certain things they should stay the way they are. You ought to be able to stick them in one of those big glass cases and just leave them alone. I know that's impossible, but it's too bad anyway."


Often I find myself wondering why we always seek solace in things that are temporary. Friends forever? No thank you. Soon everyone's going to start trickling away in different directions, never to be heard from again.
People come and go as they please. Nothing "lasts forever".

#8.31:Of love and other hormonal disorders.

MUST. WRITE.
If I have to keep another thought to myself, I might have an aneurysm.

A few days ago, I was up till around 2am again; listening to Radiohead, pondering. My circadian rhythm's shifted a bit, what with the last-minute cramming for exams and other things. I don't sleep much anymore.
But when I'm not sleeping, I'm thinking. So that's alright, I think.

And then I had this thought:
"Love is like a pimple."


Before you think, "Oh, moll is tripping balls yet again," let me tell you the whole story behind the thought:

Pimples have been on my mind a lot recently.
And on my forehead.
That's not to say they weren't there before; let's just say I look like I'm spouting a pair of horns now.
Pacific Ring of Fire? Please, I've got the Pacific Ring of Sebum on my forehead.
[Note to self: I CAN'T LIVE LIKE THIS ADSFGFHJK]

That, and Thom Yorke's voice led me to make the connection.

So, how then, is love like a pimple?

1. It happens when you least expect it to, and there's nothing you can do about it.
2. Love is hormonal, to a large extent. So are pimples.
3. If you mess around with either of the two, they leave nasty scars.
4. One fine day, when you've finally learnt to accept that you're in love, or that you have a giant pimple on your face, it will disappear. Just like that. Poof.

You can't deny the truth in that.

---------------------------------------

Speaking of love, I watched this on YouTube a while ago.

I was crying and grinning like an idiot at the same time. I shed big, fat tears at this point in the game too, and this brought back all of those emotions.

It's so perfect. ;w;

------------------------------------------

Off out.

#1386135: In which I drabble and vent, and drabble some more; So you could skip this post if you want.

Fuck you, Lennox. Fuck you.

Ah well, you know what?
It's not your fault my Lit paper was so shitty. Sorry.
:bro hug:
My own fault.
In retrospect, I should have read everything again.
Just one more time could have made all the difference.
In retrospect, I shouldn't have stayed up for so long.
Even after the epilepsy stint and years of meds, I treat my health like shit.

Retrospect is a bitch.

----------------

In honour of botching up my Literature exam, and life treating me like a pile of crap for the past few days, I put on my headphones, played a 34 minute recording of a rainstorm, sat next to the window and looked outside like I was in a sad music video.

Yes I have a 34 minute long recording of a rainstorm on my iPod.
Why? Because fuck you that's why ASFGHJKKJFFHJK


-----------------

Thoughts toward the end of all the exams I've written this year:
- Screw this. Screw studying. I'm going to be a hippie.
- Hippies don't take baths. Ma and Papa will kick me out of the house.
- I'll sell my kidneys. No big deal.
- Maybe I'll finally accomplish my lifelong dream of becoming a croupier on a cruise ship.
- I'll raise sheep on a farm, somewhere in the hills. Sheep are fun.
- I'll practice karate and meditate in the Himalayas.
- But I like my room. ;_;