Ex de…

Kxo edco edo A sud kihd ke aj kxo edo nxe’j kihdot mo unuo.

Nxuk tat a te?

A’m jsuhot.

A’lo idselohot jemokxadw.

A’m jkucc u kohharco reovhaodt.

Ak’j ebeo! Olohokxadw’j ebeo uwuad, de nehhaoj!

Damnation.

Guess what? No, I didn’t lick that giraffe balancing on a watermelon. Guess what else? Bingo. I’m playing in the A’s tomorrow morning. That’s not a good thing. A’s mean I look bad, and me looking bad means Mr "Coach" will bring me a teaset and some chairs to sit down and have the tea party he asked me to organise. I’m doomed. I’m friggin’ doomed. As soon as I found out I’m playing right wing I went crazy and in my hysteria sent Ivy a voice message depicting the seriousness of the situation by screaming. Adorable, yes, but maniacal at the same time. It’s a frightening combination.
Plan A is to go tomorrow morning and play my hardest, prove to him I deserve to be in the B’s by failing spectacularly, or push myself to stay in the A’s and become a better hockey player.
Plan B is to bitch about my aching back and find a Medical Certificate to allow me to waive this game so I can prove I should be in the B’s at training next week.
Plan C is improvise, and because I’m lacking socks and shorts, I’m going to need to find a way around that.
Plan D is to kill "Coach" guy.
Plan E is to beat myself to a blood pulp or worse so I don’t have to play.

Now, in other news… Shit, I’m playing in the A’s. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah *runs into a wall and falls over*

Roadw mo

I would appreciate it if anyone who could read this, didn’t. I’ve just left it up to know I wrote it.

 

A zijk nudk ke ro vhoo. A ted’k nudk ke fik if nakx ucc ev kxaj, A ted’k nudk ke xulo ke nehho ureik udokxadw, A nudk ke xulo kamo ke mojocv, ke ro mo.

A ted’k nudk ke kocc xoh kxeiwx.

~Thoumadw

 

Jmeekx John. Houc jmeekx. Ou vuwwek

Kxo muad fhercom Ivy udt A xulo uho no’ho kee fohvosk veh ousx ekxoh.

Kxo edco kxadw A suddek rouh meho kxud mo end kohhehj aj kxo vusk kxuk Ivy aj jut rosuijo ev mo. Udt wiojj nxuk. Jxo’j jut, uj nocc uj jasb, udt ak’j mo vuick. A xuko mojocv jemokamoj. Weet dawxk.

Caution: May involve naughty words.

First off, I’d like to say it was Tom Zeckolich that collided with me and effectively bruised my shin yesterday. He’s cool, so I’m fine with that.

I’d just like to take a moment to warn you. I’m not entirely sober right now. My hockey coach, who I’ve forgotten the name of (he wants us to call him "Coach" anyway) is a 53-year-old Dutch pilot that has the incredible eyes and ears that are required in a cockpit. He’s not used to disobedience of any sort from his crew, and nor does he expect any of us to muck around in hockey training, nor games. It took me a long time to realise by having fun, he doesn’t mean enjoying the game, he means playing it as hard as you can and coming away proud that you did your best. That you enjoyed pushing yourself to try and score that extra goal. It took me so long to realise because I was desperately trying not to hate him.

"Go fiddle with your fiddle." What the hell? While most people found this funny, when you’ve got a tyrant with power yelling in your face, it’s no longer hilarious, it’s terrifying. Pete was bouncing a ball on his stick, he got 19 on his second try. I got 1 on my first. Laughing, I joined the group he was about to brief, and suddenly he was yelling at me for stuffing around, being disobedient, things of the sort.
"Do you want to play hockey or do you want to muck around? Do you want to run four laps around the full pitch? Yeah?"
"Yes sir, sorry."
"Yeah? Go on, go!" I stood, petrified, and I think my mouth was open a little.
"No sorry, I’m sorry."
Fiddle with my fiddle, gah. You may think this is funny, but I’m scared. I’m really, really terrified of this man. I want to leave hockey, like Pete has just done. I want to, very desperately, which is a bitch because I was so looking forward to it, all year. Well… I’m not going to. If I did, I could never tell somebody not to quit something again, because I’d be a hypocrite. There’s a problem with that though. My 100% literally is not enough for him. I’m terrible at hockey, I just enjoyed playing it because it was free, it was tolerant, but now that both of those elements have been removed, all that’s left is becoming a skilled player, which is reasonable on reflection. Who knows? Maybe he won’t be taking the B’s and I’ll have Mrs Wilson instead. I’ve prayed for deliverance, but if I have to face him, then I will, and if he does his worst to me, and I survive, that’s his goal.

I actually had to reflect on this for some time, but I think "Coach" is a tough man. He’s endured a lot of things in life, and he’s hardened because of them. Pain is a part of every life, no matter how much someone tries to avoid it, and by putting people through pain and seeing them come out the other end, they become stronger. He wants us to harden, and admittedly, I can’t see too many things wrong with that. I need to develop good hockey skills, I need to do well, but at the same time my nerves are shattering. He is a terrifying man, and no matter what I do, I know my fear of him will not disappear. Kinda like Pie Mei (however it’s spelt) isn’t he? It’s easy to say I’ll try harder now, but in reality, I want to stop trying. I want to just turn my back on everything and take a break. And I won’t deny it, I still want that now, but is it really just to? It’s the strong that carry on when the weak choose to rest, and quite frankly, I know I’m not strong, but I at least want to try. I’ll go on being myself I suppose, and I know I’m not making all that much sense right now but it’s because I’m trying to sort my thoughts as I actually write them.

Olohoedo aj u jkuh. Jimo zijk rihd meho rhawxkco kxud ekxohj.

Well I don’t think this entry is worth publishing, but I will anyway. I don’t know if Pete should really have read anything, but I apologise for calling you a dickhead. I know you like to annoy me, and after having a 53-yo Dutch yell at me I was trying not to cry, all right? He made my day miserable, I have nothing left to look forward to from sports. Nothing. Throwing bread crusts at me and in my bag and poking me and talking about my ears really doesn’t help when I’m thinking "I would loooooooove to suicide, even though I can’t." So Pete, please, give me a break.

I’m a quite guy. I don’t like being funny, and I don’t like being out there. The real me is the quiet me, the one that likes to think, that wants to do something nice and especially sweet for someone for no obvious reason, other than the fact I love them and just for the sake of being nice. Unfortunately enough, as Alex so clearly emphasized this afternoon, you’re not allowed to love your friends. The real me is the me that believes in things. I never get a chance to at Trinity, and I don’t think I will for a long, long time.

~John

Loooootsa stuff

Ahhh it’s 9:49pm, and here I am. I’ve taken a break since 8:30 and treated myself to an internet spree since I had completed all my set work, which was admittedly very little on the first day back. Hopefully I’ll make it a habit anyway.

Point 1. I have to avoid sleeping in class. I really need to get another hour sleep, because Mr Shackleton’s recognised it as a habit.  The annoying thing is, he asked someone to wake up James McKenna, but he completely ignored me. I managed to keep awake long enough to ask for a drink where I splashed my stinging eyes with cold water, which surprisingly didn’t help. Nevermind. More winks, more food, and more water! I can drink through my eyes, easy. Watch- GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH I’M BLIND!

Touch typing. Blessing from God. Anyways, I don’t think that wasting time is an accurate statement. I think there’s certain amount of time in which the sun rises and sets, and we base our daily lives around that. In a day, we have perhaps 12 hours. It’s how productively we spend those hours that counts. *yawn* Aaaaaah…

Ah yeah, point 3. It’s apparant I’m not getting dropped from my maths class. I got 89% in my test, class average being 82. I’ve also come about the revelation (and it took me a while, I confess) that I don’t need to do every question in an exercise to prove I understand the material. We do the work to understand and remember, if I can do both, I needn’t waste.. ahem, spend my time less productively. Ah the hell with it, we all know what it means to ‘waste’ time anyway.

Another useless note. We’re starting soccer for CPEP in PE. I’d like to comment and say: Caleb’s a racist son of a bitch who I would share little sympathy if he was killed, but rejoice if he was expelled. David Michael is a biased and racist asshole (not as bad as a soab) who I hope will eventually pick a fight he can’t win, and he’ll pay dearly for it. He doesn’t really pick fights though does he, he’s just an asshole. Nevermind, I’ll try not to hate either of them, but now my arms and legs are itchy from the grass, and I have a huge bruise on my shin. I’m bringing shinpads and boots next time.

Anyways, I’ve had a good day back. It all seems familiar I admit, but aside from Rowan intentionally being a retard (as literally as possible) it’s going to be a great couple of days while the joy of the holidays carries into the school term. Back to blazers, hooray! Hockey also starts tomorrow, at last. Lookin’ forward to it like… like… that thing… yeeeeeeeah. Like hockey! I can’t wait to play on Saturday. First game of the season. Can you smell the victory? I can’t! But that’s okay, there’s always the possibility! Despite the fact we didn’t win a single game last season (we got a tie once!) and we won maybe 2 in Year 8. I’m probably exaggerating… we didn’t win any in Year 8 either. Nevertheless, this is Year 10! Aha! A new shot at victory until we eventually suck so bad somebody has to forfeit in pity! Champions of the world! And a chance to give Mark his long awaited frosty.

Oooooooookay I’m gonna take a break now for about 8 hours. I’ll lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, pretending I’m asleep. Then, in the morning, I can fall asleep in my bowl of moss and let the ant-eating snails nuzzle me with their feelers. I’ll scatter some silver carrots around for them to snozzle too. By the way, I’ve realised I’m making just a teeeeeeeeeny weeeeeeeeeny little bit less sense than normal, but I’ve also come to the conclusion I’m too brilliant to talk to you people, and your inferior intellect is your own damnation if you can’t understand my genius. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee I’m hyper and nonsensical and… I like cake.

Rant/school

Eugene really pisses me off sometimes. I’m enslaved to put DVD’s on for him, and everytime I work them off, he comes up with some stupid fucking contract to make me put on about 50 more. I can’t get out of it, because if I deny the offer he makes my life hell by abusing it with every loophole he can. I currently have to put on 64 more, which is reasonable because it started at 100 a few weeks ago. He watches about 12 a week, or at least asks me to put them on. Anyway, because of my dodgy connection, I can’t send/receive files across MSN of any sort, including more often than not webcam. That makes life a bitch. He adds 5 DVD’s everytime the internet disconnects, because our computers are networked so one affects the other. *shakes his head sighing* That’s my brother for you.

Meanwhile, Pete:  My mother hates you for eating my popcorn at the movies. You devil you.

Anyways, other news depicts the arrival of school. The end to the holidays has finally come about, despite my efforts to stop it, and the inevitable is approaching. I admit. I’m nervous. I’m nervous about having to face Mr Scott, my PE teacher period 3, that requested an interview. It’s probably because he reckons I pissed in the pool. Mr McRae will also be a threat to me, and I see him period 2. He requested an interval as well, for what I have no idea. Guess what I have period 1. Maths. I pretty much failed that, I just know I’m going to get dropped any day now. Quite frankly I would relish that, but I’d never hear the end of it from my family, from Dylan Misso or from Pete. Yes I know you’re reading this Pete.

It’s going to be a dangerous tomorrow. I learned in the Learning Performance Seminar I took in January that any ‘threat’ can be seen as a ‘challenge’ if you change your views. If you choose to see it as an obstacle you can overcome, rather than something that you’re scared will beat you. That’s what I plan to do. Tomorrow I will not let myself distracted in class, I will simply pay attention and strive to improve my grades in everything, maths included, with spotless behaviour. I can’t afford to get in trouble, and so Pete, I ask that you don’t excessively talk to me in class. *sigh* School. It’s a blessing, but so many people including myself take for granted all the opportunities it offers. I should stop pretending I dread it and stand against the crowd. It’s my blessing, I won’t let other people convince me otherwise.

That, and the fact I’m looking forward to seeing Pete play hockey ^^
Night blog readers.

Petey!

 Monsieur Pete ~ says:

I got bored one lonely night

 Monsieur Pete ~ says:

Twas a conincidence the pope died that night too

Lol Pete’s hilarious. Great guy, Pete. Great guy.