May Day! I'm hit!

It's May. I missed posting on May Day; what a waste of puns.

I'm in the middle of IOP essay outline preparations and I find out that my Internet is lagging (darn Singtel). I think about tomorrow, and what my teacher would say: "Why did you have to do it last minute?" And I come to this realization: that in the great scheme of neverending homework; inevitably, something has to be left to the last. It's just misfortune that thy assignment was relegated to the back of the queue. Hmm.

Well, IOP is kinda screwed. A bit too rushed: if we're supposed to do everything now, what's the point of having the June holidays? To study? (Irony, irony, irony.)

MSN seems a lot deader now. Fewer and fewer people initiate conversations; lost in the mire of homework or sunk too deep in their sea of more familiar friends to cast a landline to this piece of driftwood. Yet I don't feel lonely or unappreciated; solitare has a knack for expanding the imagination. My personage is changing; whilst before I used to wallow in self-pity and ponderation, it now affects me less than before; like I am numb to all external effects. Well, not really. Being happy still gives me kicks.

I kinda like that line. Realism is for pessimists.

I found another Outsiders volume recently. I figure that was our biggest mistake. We never forged a team; we created a family. And that's why it hurts so much.

Speaking of superheroes, a new TNN anthology is coming up, apparently. In many ways it mirrors No Other City, which is a slight cause for concern; nonetheless this new literature is fascinating, in a way. It allows more mature thought and focused writing to, apparently, "bring out our identity". Interpret what you will.

Well, back to The Rebel of China.

When I was small, and Christmas trees were tall,
We used to laugh, while others used to play.
Don't ask me why, the time has passed us by;
Someone else moved in from far away...
Now we are tall, and Christmas trees are small,
And you don't ask the time of day...
But you and I, our love will never die;
But guess who'll cry, come first of May.
The Edna Man