Denial defined

Definition of denial:

I don't like her. What's she got going for her anyway?

I mean, ok, so she's pretty, smart, funny and intelligent. And she has a great smile, which, as I've mentioned before, I have a thing for. She dresses well. Like, not just brands. Clean, tasteful and understated. I feel refreshed just looking at her.

And she laughs at my humour, and I laugh at hers. She's unique and different. Like, with most other people, I feel as though I've sort of met other people that are like them. But not her.

And, ok, fine, she's deep as well. I can have an intelligent conversation with her and not bore each other to death.

And I think she sort of wants to talk to me. Sometimes. I hope.

But I mean, apart from that, she's not attractive in any way. At all. Not one bit. Ever. In the slightest. Plus, she's way out of my league. Like, you know, that quaint little movie that no-one watched called Titanic with that DiCaprio guy in it? Yeah, that kind of out-of-my-league. Although that worked out pretty well for him. Well, not really, seeing as he died a horrible death, but before that, it was working ok. But that's a movie. This is reality, which I find so much harder to script and play out.

I'm not in denial. At all. And there's no irony in that statement. Because I'm not in denial. For that statement to be ironic, I would have to be in denial. Which I clearly am not. At all. In the slightest. Not one single, tiny little bit.

Word of the Day: Denial

An excess of goodness

I think I can now form a rainbow with my casual shirts, which oddly enough, outnumber my business shirts. Probably because I'm more into casual exploits than business exploits at this stage of my life.

I have:
-one pink shirt
-one red checkered shirt
-two grey shirts
-one black shirt
-one black checkered shirt
-one blue one
-and I feel like I've left one or two out, and I can't be bothered checking.

Which begs the question: why do I keep buying them? I bought another two today.

The answer is, I don't know. Probably something along the lines of me liking colours and things on sale.

Word of the Day: Shirts

Red Bull...with free can opening service!

Even though I got free Red Bull today, I still feel discriminated against.

While Banh and Victor got free can opening services, I got mine given to me unopened, and suffered the confusing question of: "Which type do you want?" I said "whatever" in place of "I thought there was only one type." Which seemed like the more appropriate thing to do at the time.

And no. I don't have wings. Disappointing, I know.

As Banh so aptly declared, "We can now call this a good day," or something of that ilk (I also "stole" that word off him). Correct me if I'm wrong, Banh.

And as days go, it wasn't bad. Highlight of the day was meeting David Phan in my MGMT tute. That was awesome, and relieved my oh-so-acute loneliness in this dastardly unit. Shame he goes to the other lecture, but I guess one can't have everything in life.

Back to pool. I got thumped by both Banh and Victor. I'll get there one day. When my dad sets up the pool table in the basement, I'll practice and become pool king. But I don't think it'll be happening within the next five years. But one can always hope. Worst comes to worst, I'll just be a very old pool king.

Word of the Day: Pool

Yum Cha Library

Ahh, the familiarity.

I am, of course, talking about the Law Library. But the Law Library is not great in and of itself. In fact, I would contend that, by itself, it would be a terribly dreary place, as I found out exactly a week ago. The people make it great.

And people there were today. What a contrast. From nobody being there during my breaks last week (except for Banh, during my one o' clock break, and he's only going to be there every second week), to almost everybody you could imagine. Almost. But not quite. But the point is, it's starting to look like Yum Cha in there again. Just the way I like it.

A bit below the Yum Cha crowdage level is optimum. When it gets to "we have mooting tomorrow" levels, I get claustrophobic and run back outside. (It also doesn't help that they post "mooters get priority" signs everywhere).

Apart from a stimulating break time, nothing much else happened.

Oh, except for me running into James while he was holding a girl's hand. I wonder where his girlfriend was. Lucky she (probably) won't read this. Would be terrible for her.

Word of the Day: Law Library

A serious post for once in my life

Yesterday, I found out that a boy in my Year 7 class was autistic.

I admit I was getting a bit frustrated with him when I was teaching him last week. He doesn't talk to me. At all. Like, not even yes or no. It was frustrating because I didn't know if he understood anything I said. Apparently he does, because he does the work.

Yesterday, I was still getting frustrated, but I tempered my frustration with pity and empathy after I found out that he was autistic.

I've been informed by my sister, who is very reliable (yes, just nod), that autism impedes a person's ability to communicate in a socially acceptable manner. Hence, he doesn't reply to my questions.

It made me reflect on how lucky we are. There's so many diseases out there that you can get at birth. Then, there's so many hurts and ills we can get after birth.

I think that we're very lucky to be whole and pretty much perfect. I mean, the worst thing I have is hayfever, and I can even subdue that now. Most of the people I know aren't even afflicted by this. Well, right now I can't even walk properly, but that'll get better within a month hopefully. As far as I know, autism is pretty much incurable. Which means he'll never be able to communicate with anybody. I've always maintained that no matter how good you are at studies or whatever, if you can't communicate, it's going to be a struggle.

I don't know what I'm trying to say (do I ever). I think it goes something like treasure what you have, because a lot of people don't have it.

So that pretty much exhausted my Serious-O-Meter for the day. On to some more light-hearted, pink-tinged stuff.

Today, my sister bought an electric piano, and my other sister bought a trumpet (yes, they have names, but you wouldn't remember them anyway, and they don't crop up very often on this blog, so don't worry), and I bought a...nothing. Yayer.

So we went down to good ol' Forest Hill Chase, where I espied a male working at Wendy's. Either I never noticed before, or I associate hot pink uniforms with femininity, but I swear I've never seen a guy working there. Ever. In any shopping centre. Or anywhere else. Then I started imagining myself in a hot pink t-shirt. And I shivered. Possibly because of the cold, possibly not.

And my preposterous no-haircut declaration still stands. GFC, man. Gotta cut back on unnecessary spending. Incidentally, jeans are not unnecessary.

Word of the Day: Pink

A little perspective. Just a little. Please.

I had uni today.

Yay.

Nothing much to report on that front, except for me actually getting what John Gerrand is going on about. That's a first, by the way. Me understanding what's going on in Accounting lectures.

Anyway, what I really wanted to do was to express my disenchantment with some people in the beautiful game.

Actually, this disenchantment has been going for sometime, but has recently been reignited by Adebayor's transfer to Manchester City.

Although I say good riddance, because, in my opinion, he was never that great anyway, it's the comments that he's made after the transfer which irk me.

It goes something like this. "Yeah, sure, I transferred because they offered me more money. But tell me, which Arsenal fan wouldn't change from their 10 pound job to a 30 pound job?"

Football players have been accused of lacking perspective. I agree wholeheartedly.

How is a fan, who is earning 10 pounds (per hour, per day, per week, I don't know what Adebayor's talking about, but yeah, whatever) changing to a job that pays 30 pounds comparable to him? I mean, we're not talking in terms of being paid peanuts here. If you triple 10 pounds, and get 30, if we're talking about per hour, that's massive.

Now, with Adebayor, we're talking someone who's earning tens of thousands of pounds per week, even when he's injured and not performing well, switching teams to earn tens of thousands of pounds more.

His excuse is that he comes from a poor city and a poor country. I don't know about you, but that doesn't make much sense to me. It's not like he's feeding his country. Instead of buying a house per month, he can now buy a house every fortnight. Congratulations.

His nonsensical remarks are almost on par with Sep Blatter comparing Cronaldo to a slave last season, due to the fact that Man Utd wouldn't sell him to Real Madrid. I don't get the argument there either. Both parties signed the contract, both knew the terms when signing. Besides, I wouldn't mind being a slave if I got paid that much. Slave. Blatter is an insult to people who actually live on a pittance.

Just while we're on the topic of inane comments, Valdano, some head honcho guy at Real Madrid, recently responded to criticism from the Spanish Government with regards to their insane spending by saying this: "Sure, people need money, but football also makes them happy." Ok, I like a good game of football. But this is just way out of any perspective, and smacks of clutching at straws to justify a quarter of a billion Euros (and counting) being spent on transfers, while the people of Spain deal with double-digit unemployment. Football doesn't feed the people on the streets.

Well, anyway, this past weeks been pretty torrid, so I guess it fits that I end it by venting my anger at something that most people probably don't care about, and rightly so. Here's hoping that next week will be better.

Word of the Day: Perspective (or lack thereof)

I heart jolly good times

Day off today. And what does one do one their day off? Visit to the doctor's of course!

Yay.

Okay, I'll shut up now.

Anyway, I haven't been there for a while now. Well, at least not for myself. Pretty boring place, full of not-very-young people on weekdays.

Anyway, after bending my knee and putting me in excruciating pain, Mrs. Doctor gave me anti-inflammatories and told me to pray that I didn't rip my meniscus or cartilage or something like that to shreds, otherwise I'll need reconstructive surgery, which, I think, would not be very much fun. But it's not all doom and gloom. She says that I *probably* haven't completely screwed up my meniscus, even though I'm struggling to get up stairs, because I didn't do what footy players do - take a mark, twist and basically rip all the tendons in their knee, which she calls a triple tear. Mine's so much better, because potentially it's only a single tear. Only. Hopefully. I'll need to do an MRI or something similarly crazy to ascertain the extent of the damage if it doesn't get better. With no government rebate. So bye-bye new jeans if I need an MRI.

Either way, I'll know in five or so days, because if my knee keeps looking like a watermelon, that means that I'll need surgery.

So if you didn't understand the above, because I have issues expressing myself even in writing, the equation is as follows (assuming that you care):

knee size of watermelon after a week = most likely surgery.

In the meantime, I'm supposed to keep knee movements of the right-sided variety to a minimum.

It just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?

Word of the Day: Funtime