Went back to look at old bird forum. Read through the Lymond posts and realised so many of the discussions were unfinished and left hanging. Mostly because, I suppose, a Lymond review requires a lot of brainpower and time, and we all know how time is so hard to come by. And once someone posts something excessively long (review of Checkmate), no one feels compelled to reply it in equally 'freaky proportions'. (I quote Turk.)

One of my favourite quotes of all time, when Lymond fell in love:

And deep within him, missing its accustomed tread, his heart paused, and gave one single stroke, as if on an anvil.

It can't be that simple. What a sudden realisation. Fiction.

1 am. What am I doing here? Have basic theory test on Monday! Gah. And the unspeakable thing on Wednesday.

A day should definitely be longer than 24 hours. There's so much to do, so little time. Teaching takes up the entire morning and the early afternoon. Then I will only reach home close to 3 pm. I sit down, have lunch and flip through the tv channels. If there's something good on (which there rarely is) or there's a cd I crave watcing, I'll park myself in front of the screen till about 5.30 pm, give or take. This, that, toilet time, prayer time... I switch on my comp at about 6 pm. I video edit, which takes AGES, and read mail, update blog, or check for DT update etc simultaneously. Prayer time again, then after that, about 5 minutes break before dinner. Dinner at 8 pm: it's all setting food, eating food and then clean up remains of food. And I will finish everything at about 9 pm. After that, the good tv shows come on. Desperate Housewives and Dia on Monday, OC and Sembilu on Tuesday.

On Wednesday, Thursday and Friday nights, am a bit freer, then will start to read a bit. Am simultaneously reading Virgin Earth, The Intelligencer and Boundaries of the Soul. Also have Basic Theory Test to study for, and Arabic to revise. I normally fail to do what I want. Should probably cut down on tv. Gah.

Today: screamed at both my math classes. Finally had some effect on them.

~~~

From Allan Massie:

... the author who does not pause to gather wayside flowers or, more appropriately in this context, to reflect on his narrative, is like man who hurries through a city in search of experience and never pauses to gather it...

Potato nightmare. Sure, it was a good idea to begin with, pige. But the kids are impossible. Only a miserable two of them brought their potatoes for the potato printing art lesson. Then they were shouting and didn't want to share potatoes or paint (which wasn't even theirs in the first place! was the school's.) and someone spilled green paint all over the floor. Was furious with them. Made them line up outside for a long time and told them I'd never bring them to the art room ever again.

Can't take it. My tongue is inconceivably numb. Why am I so slow to speak. It's like there's an exceptionally long synapse between my brain and tongue. Can't stand it! Even Mudaris said something along those lines. I can understand things fast but my progress of speech is otherwise. Maybe I should just remain passive, and write and type all my life.

But then I scream at the kids. My throat has barely recuperated and it's already straining once again. I swear, these kids are psychotic. Collectively, they are a bunch of monsters. I don't understand why they must yell, and not speak. I brought a P1 class to the eco garden today, and they run around like it's the zoo. My heart was in my throat half the time for fear some of them might fall into the pond, and kill themselves and the fishes in the process. The bridge over the pond was a tiny platform and close to ten of them were shoving each other on it. I was screaming 'Move! Move!' and waving my arms like a mad woman.

But individually, they are lovable. At the end of the day, this P2 girl called Bella came running to me and hugged me out of the blue, and said 'Teacher, I love you!' The first word that popped into my head: NUTS. But then, what else could I do but say 'I love you too' in response. And then I got a nice Get Well Card yesterday and a red pen from one of the P5s. They can be adorable.

The favourite questions the students ask me are:

Teacher, why you so short ah?
I narrow my eyes and say, 'Does it matter?' And they just grin stupidly. You little nincompoop. If I knew why, I wouldn't be this way.

Teacher, how old are you?
If I feel like it, I tell them. Then they'll be all 'Wah... Still young.' How old do they think they are, 63?

Teacher, when are you getting married?
When I first encountered this, I was @_@. You would think kids have more on their minds. I say, 'Not yet.' And give them a look, and they grin sheepishly, again.

Teacher, can I go toilet?
Absolute favourite. For P1s, when someone asks and I consent, four more will pop up simultaneously claiming they have urgent business. This especially gets on my nerves. And then I'll announce that no one goes to the toilet.

Teacher, I tell you something?
If I'm somehow free and patient, I say 'What?' And then I'll almost always regret it. Most will start complaining about how his friend punched him in the face or any other body part, others will launch into some long-winded pointless story (lower primary). After the first sentence, the urge to roll eyes or laugh hysterically is sometimes unbearable.

Teaching is such a mix of everything. Now I have to stop blogging and go make some potato prints for P3 art tomorrow. They will most definitely forget to bring what I told them.

Have fallen terribly sick. Bones aching all over. Throat feels worse than sandpaper; feels like spikes.

I had a dream once where I had fallen terminally ill. It was some heart disease that was seemingly incurable. The doctor was left with few choices of treatment and told my family that one option was to have a surgery (memory of the details of this evade me). There was a 50% chance that I would not survive the operation. So naturally, my parents were worried. But I remember being completely calm and relaxed about this. I wasn't afraid to die. I thought about how good I've been in life (mostly), so I was sure hell wasn't my destination. And I had my unshakeable faith. Allah would not forsake me.

But when the day before the surgery arrived, I woke with a new terror. Suddenly I was afraid. And it was because I realised I would miss out on so many things in life. I haven't seen Scotland, haven't driven a car, haven't gone to uni, haven't fallen in love, haven't mastered arabic, haven't reread Lymond, haven't been to Nikki's Indian wedding. The list goes on. It was during this dawning of realisation that I woke up. Was so relieved. What's left now is to do all those things I thought I wouldnt get to do.

Bird outing next Sat! Yay. And Casanova on Fri. Nice.

Photo from Mutiara Lake Resort, Pedu. Bro and sis in front of our huts.

The one on the right is ours.

How dare they. Freedom of expression, my ass. Let's all start drawing caricatures of the Pope and see how they respond. Thoughtless bastards. Wonder how the egyptian dandrawis are taking this.

Finished Egypt CD1.

Mumu came over today and we talked much about Lymond. She's on to Ringed Castle and I have once again loaned the DD guide. Realise that I haven't fulfilled the number one thing on my after-As list and cannot wait to start. As soon as I finish all my other reads.

It worries me that I am inclined to tears every other day. What is wrong with me.