I'll Crush You Like A Cockroach! (If only I wasn't afraid of things that have wings, have six legs and are a few thousand times smaller than me)

I want to write about something… but what? I have run out of events that are bloggable and inspiration for distorted accounts of my life/thoughts… and against the backdrop of my no-trivia, controlled-whining blog policy too (basically, I don’t write what I wouldn’t want to be reading on other people’s blog)… Arghh.. whatever! *Wei Wei does the blondie’s “whatever” and roll eyes thang*

I’m angry, and I need to shit. (I found out I can’t shit late at night. It’s as if my bowel muscles get just as tired as the rest of my physical and mental state.)

I’ve so little patience for immaturity and irresponsibility in anyone old enough to be in secondary school. That’s quite ironic, given the fact that I’m working with children most of the time now: Tuition kids between ages 8 and 14 through Mondays to Saturdays, and then my own one-to-one follow-up 10-year-old girl in church on Sundays. Evenings are the time I take off from children, yet that’s the time when my 14-year-old sister fills the gaps.

14-year-olds are so irritating. I hate seeing those Sec 2-3 characters roaming about Tampines Mall, eating at MacDonalds, being in my space… Argh!
Sec 1s are not so bad: fresh into a new system of secondary school and teenhood, they are still testing out the waters and proceeding cautiously; hardly any airs and all out to let new experiences soak in.
The Sec 4s and JC1s are comfortable in their teenage years and past that teen-insecurity phase of the frightful-fourteen-year-olds.
Sec 2-3s are the “Well, hey! We’re second-years in teenhood, so that gives us the right to start trying to set trends and making our presence loud and clear to you. We’re individuals with a mind of our own, so par-leease show us some R.E.S.P.E.C.T. And to our elder siblings, yes, we think you’re so passé, but we’ll still copy some of the things you do but of course disguise them a little so that they look original. And in the event that our behaviour becomes strikingly similar to yours, blame it on nurture and spending too much time with you. No no, we don’t like the way you talk, but we took after it, most unfortunately may we add, by the cruel fact that we live together. Oooh, and lookie at the front seat of the car, and the place at the dining table Jie Jie always sits at,… they must be the best… let’s try it out!”

And if you have not guessed it right, it’s my sister I have the least patience for. I suppose you could say familiarity breeds contempt and the fact that living together is usually never the best way to bring out the positive essence of anyone’s character.

I hate it when she uses my toilet. In fact, I hate it when anyone uses my toilet. It’s not officially my toilet of course, but the habits of this home have been such that the common toilet that is also an attached bathroom to my room, has become more or less, mine. Totally personalised with my favourite combination of toiletries and hygiene/cleanliness/neatness idiosyncrasies (e.g. The toilet is always wet because I shower the toilet bowl almost after every time I use it. Yes, psychotic as it sounds, I do that.), that’s my second favourite abode, after my room.

At least now, she makes the attempt to use it so secretly well that I can’t spot her presence (Previously, my highly-sensitive intruder alert was often activated by the fact that my facial wash tubes were messy with soap in the caps). But alas, she forgot to open the door into my room today after her shower this morning in my toilet. That’s the problem – the longer she does something in secret, the more careless she gets.

I have to admit I’m not the nicest person to live with either. I’m meticulous, a perfectionist and can’t stand the slightest sight of dirt, untidiness and evidences of irresponsibility.

Darn, now I find me justifying myself through my rambling and complaining again. That’s partly why I try not to whine through my blogs. The b*tch in me comes out.