This is my story...

Monday, March 14, 2005

I hate it when I run out of breathe after just a few shots in the game. I hate it when I make hell lotsa mistakes. I hate to feel real tired, physically tired... my mind says never but my body just gave up... argh. Something's really wrong. Fuck the smoke man.

I need to use my fucking brains. I think it is under ultilized. Goddamnit. I need to use it in everything: badminton, sleeping, doing this and that.. everything...

And I will keep fucking think too much and I will get a goddamn nervous breakdown again. What the fuck? Can't I just use my brains to think for the better? Maybe it's just too much to withstand the shiet that I had bore.

I hate it. In order to keep myself healthy I shall refrain from those alcohols and cigarettes. I am not a fucking smoker by the fucking way, so to those who HATE smokers and think that I am one, you can fucking flame me now, and I don't fucking care. I started that shiet because of a girl and I have abstaining it for months, just that whenever I frequent the clubs I go outta control.

Get me another girl and I will fucking stop that shiet of acculmulating road tar into my precious lungs. No fucking wonder I feel so weak, with puffy eyes and all the stupid and disgusting symptoms.... and can't play proper badminton. Fuck.

Rambled by kaSh at 11:42 pm