Nowadays I always find myself searching for something or someone, scanning vast expanses of soul(s?) (I think I like the letter 'S' very much, even though sibilance is supposed to indicate something rather sinister), sometimes finding but always never quite finding whatever this rather pointless goal of mine is (which is much ado about nothing).

I count ten words that start with an 'S' in that above paragraph.

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Today was a rather pointless day.

Sir Reverse Weeaboo popped into class in the morning to inform us that he would be away for both TOK and English (which kinda made no difference since he would let us do TOK/world lit during that time anyway), so that left me with close to 3 hours of nothing-ness. I did do work on Saoirse, but after a while I got frustrated with my TOK presentation since I have no clear idea what I want to say (er, this seems to happen pretty often to me) but in my heart I do know what I want to say. I suppose from heart-to-mouth the words bounce around my insides and collide against various arterial walls and slide into alveoli, all bubbly and somewhere up the trachea they get stuck to the mucus lining.

It's a little like missed words that fail to reach the ears of their intended targets. They feel like heavy arrows floating in the air between the two souls, thick and jarring - and even more uncomfortable for those who hear it but aren't the intended recipient. (Oh I do digress alot!)

So all in all today I had a short lesson with Kenneth Huang for Economics and a Biology Practical which really wasn't a Biology practical (and for once my hypochondria came in useful!). Then after school a few of us stayed back to watch part 1 of King Lear with Laurence Oliver, their thick accents mingled with olde englishe and really bad sound quality lulled me to sleep rather quickly, Gen too. Most remarkably, most of the people stayed towards the end to watch the screening.

Dinner was at the grandma's, to celebrate the Chinese Valentine's Day. My Primary One cousin, Matthew, has taken on some new strange urge to pluck his eyebrows when he is bored. When I last saw him on Saturday, he had like 30% eyebrows left. Today, when he greeted me as I waited for the gate to open, he had 0% eyebrows. On closer inspection (on the advice from his dad), he was also missing 30% eyelashes. This kid is quickly getting to be even more eccentric than I am!

I blame my uncle and his OCD tendencies, just like I blame my dad for making me very weird and very anxious.