all i do is sleep and when i'm awake, i feel sleepy. i just had a 6 hour nap and it was so odd! i thought i was awake and walking aimlessly from my room to the living room and back again. but apparently, i was snoring away on the couch the whole time! and my specs and handphone mysteriously appeared on the floor, which is nuts because my mum has successfully drilled the 'no stuff on the floor except chairs, tables and rugs' litany into my little head.
on a normal day, i can't even think straight! it's like i'm in this state of near-drunkenness where my arms feel like a separate entity and it takes me a second longer to process conversations.
and i have semi-flu symptoms everyday of the week.
i think i'm going to die, man!
ps: should i drop dead and its a deadline week, please help me to hand in my assignments to the respective pigeon holes and digital dropboxes.
pps: i dont have a will. oh. please sell my shoes on ebay. some of them have never been worn. (dont touch my maroon pointy heel thing. bury me with them) please use the money to buy an awesome urn for my ashes. i don't want to be in a crematorium where my ashes get slotted into some brickwall with the inscriptions fading into oblivion over time and no one is allowed to bring real flowers in. BORINGGGGGG.
ppps: i don't want wreaths ok. i just want plenty of sunflowers at my wake. i think they're awesome. roses are pfffffffffffffftt, even more so with lilies and carnations.
pppps: die die philip must sing ok. something from APC. I DON'T CARE. no jazz at all. and he must give me an excellent eulogy WITHOUT any grunting and snorting.
pppppps: the girls must go to the toilet and cry.
ppppppps: every fortnight, an appointed person will need to converse with my urn so that, by some warped stroke of genius, the person might be able to decipher what little nuggets of random garble i muttered in my lifetime.
thats it. back to scripting. boringgggggg.
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