Saturday, 19 September 2015

Getting Chicken Pox at 21.

*Pardon the months-long hiatus*

You know what's one of the worst things to happen when you're old? 
Alzheimer's. But apart from fucking Alzheimer's, which is legit a scarier thought than the upcoming Blade Runner remake, there's chicken pox. 

By human lifespans, I am not that old. I'm twenty-one,. But in dog years I'm like fifty, and to little kids, I'm a full grown highfalutin job-working white-collar car-driving robot slave. 

With chicken pox. 

And actually, I'm still on my Ls so I don't even qualify as an official adult. I know, it's pathetic.

Anyway, this week has been the worst time to get chicken pox. As one of the vice presidents at my student club, I had spent literally months organising the first university-wide singing competition to ever be held at our university. I was even going to be the MC, alongside a hyper-energetic young male whose Facebook name consists of a heavy oscillation of Xs and Os. He was really fun to work with when we were preparing the speeches, so I was excited to get to do the actual thing on stage. 

And then I got chicken pox two days before the event.
[insert all-caps curse word]

Not only that, I also had to sell off both mine and my boyfriend's law ball tickets and because I'm an emotional weakling, I offered to sell them both at discounted prices even though there was nothing wrong in principle with charging the original price. [inesrt all-caps curse word].

I also rang up my friend to tell her that due to my illness i.e. looking like a walking topography of volcanoes, I couldn't do the other MC job that I promised to do next Thursday, which was of a state-wide scale and open to the public. 


So many missed opportunities. The only silver lining in my personal fiasco is that the singing competition apparently went extremely well - thanks to good organising *wink*. Our sponsorship officer was also great, and managed to get Pappa Rich (you know, the restaurant we all go to when we can't make up our minds) to sponsor at least one prize for every single contestant. Pappa Rich were ecstatic with the exposure they received. We had many other sponsors as well, but our President managed to fuck one of their names up in spectacular comedic fashion. He's a good guy.

Before I end up rambling on and on, and possibly starting a new post, you may be wondering why I write so aggressively. In fact, this is me trying to hold back. If I didn't self-censor, there would be a million 'fucks' all over this page right now. I can't help it. I like swearing and it's what I'm really thinking. I am of course not like this in real life (i.e. verbally swearing all the time), but online, I can do almost whatever I want as long as the privacy settings on this blog are what I think I've set them to. 

The thing is, I don't want to blog to create this wholesome picture of myself for the world. This isn't some sort of marketing tool like LinkedIn to create my own personal brand, although I know that these days, that is a must and I have no escape from such a requirement if I intend to forge a successful career in a big city. 

Neither is this blog some sort of picture blog, or foodie blog, or make-up blog, or fashion blog. This is purely, a writing blog. A journal blog. 

It is a way of airing my insecurities, my truest thoughts and feelings - feeling connected to my (very small pool of) readers, and being free from the politically correct standards of Tumblr's 'cis-gender' population who literally can't function without stopping fifteen times mid-conversation to insert a trigger-warning. 


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