Tuesday, August 19, 2008


I haven't been such a good person lately as I have been hating too much. I've been meticulously observing things and events that I'm bordering on over-analysis and nosiness. I swear to Zeus that I can almost feel my brain slowly deteriorating because I spend too much time pondering on the simplest things--like, the effects of not using a pillow overnight and how Cyril Takayama makes a burger on a poster come out to be real (and how I'm not so sure of his surname so I'm gonna give him an alias). After this, I go on thinking about how many hours I'd spend without fending for myself and wondering if Mr. Magician can pull people out of a poster. It doesn't end there. My train of thought just goes elsewhere and on and on until I get to the idea of applying menthol ointment on my neck, thinking about how the chemicals would work and travel to the inner layer of my skin. I would simultaneously think about how Mr. Magician was born with some unusual DNA  or whatever you, Med Freaks call it and how his parents are at fault because something might've happened in his childhood that made him be as such. Then again, he makes a lot of money and he has a lot of hits on YouTube and I, on the other hand, managed to have 3000 hits only (as oppoosed to his 10-million ++). But then again I am not an magician and my childhood was fine. Fun, actually. I was a princess. I was treated as one, I get what I want when I want it--this is why I have been a spoiled brat and a hater! I am not a princess anymore. WHATEVER. In the end, I wouldn't arrive at a conclusion. All I get from all the analyzing is exhaustion.