Travolta

It rained. Too much rain is in no ways beneficial to a fragile sunflower.

(Ever wonder if Sunflowers have a scent?)

My army of Post-its got drenched. Everyone in class is feeling suicidal/crazy/mindless. Rain can apparently wash away the colours of the world. (But not MG pens and markers. HA)

*Fast forwarded to *censored* class*
Apparently, our dear whats-her-name is, like almost all other *censored* teacher, the stereotypical chosen ONE that just have to teach us. Maybe the school should revise their hiring choices. Remember what happened in year 1, when Ms. Something-or-another brought down the wrath of random mood-swings on us? Remind me again; *censored* classes are supposed to be fun. Well *censored* isn't. It's a complete waste of time. From here, we know that:
-*censored* class teachers are hired based on a desperate measure. (mostly.)
-Thus resulting in drop of quality.
-Teaching workshops never work. Individualism should be encouraged.
-Pathetic jabs at teaching are NOT teaching. It is a non-effective transfer of information.

English was boring. The comprehension test is funneh. Yes, to all the Emo-ers out there: Emo culture is just a ridiculous front that masks weaknesses and excuses weaknesses.

After a quick lunch, I marched my troops across the perilous grounds of the black-and-white squares with Phyllis and Yan Hao. The all-rounded Sicilian Dragon was broken when adjutant-in-command AKA annoying Seet made snide comments beside me, forcing me to yield to violence in order to regain concentration.

Afterwards, I became a integral part of the Internet...for 2 hours. Sensory-deprivation cubicle=my room.

90% of happiness is picking the right ethicist.

G'day.