The Amazing Spiderman

I've posted this before and everything but THIS IS THE GREATEST SCENE IN MOVIE HISTORY:



I know. I've said that many times before. But I truly believe that right at this moment.

J

I'm So Fucked

I don't want to do this anymore. I am literally in physical pain doing this shit. I can't remember anything. I feel like I'm going to fail all my exams.

I'm also increasingly unhappy with uni in general. It's not about social inadequacies or anything anymore. I don't know if I'm happy in this degree. I don't know if I want this to be my future. I don't know if I want to be a doctor. I don't know if I want to be anything at all. I was this way at the end of year 12; unsure of everything and of what I wanted. I'm just as uncertain now.

Nothing appeals to me. Is it the exams talking or am I really not meant to be doing this degree?

I've started writing this post so many times and then deleted it. Because it makes me feel ungrateful to write these things when I know so many people who have worked so hard to be in this degree and who have been unsuccessful. And also because my dad wanted to be a doctor when he was younger but never had the opportunity and is therefore living vicariously through me.

Quitting is not an option. Isn't that dramatic sounding? I couldn't quit even if I tried. What would I do? I've already put so much work into this degree already. I don't think I could bear it if I left all that behind.

I'm going to bed soon. Maybe it'll all be alright in the morning. Mum bought me Chobani (without me even asking) so that's a good sign. I've been hitting the books hard all week (think 8.30am-11pm study days) and it's taking its toll on me mentally and emotionally. Coupled with the feeling that I'm getting nowhere and remembering nothing... I hope it's just the stress talking and not my true feelings.

I like the idea of being a GP someday. Being able to travel and help people. It's getting there that makes me nervous. The years of relentless study. The amount of crap I have to memorize for just one semester is ridiculous. There's so much that it's laughable. Then there's the actually being in hospitals and completing my clinical years, internships, registrarships (that ain't no word). Dealing with smug, scary doctors. Being put on the spot. Being responsible for someone's life. The constant reminder that if I fuck up, if I forget some insignificant detail I learnt in third year, I could kill someone. Being yelled at, abused, belittled. Working 24 hour shifts (do those really exist?), working on no sleep at all.

I can't even handle menial jobs that have no true meaning. My first night at Officeworks, I came home, laid down in bed and burst into tears. Can you imagine my first clinical rotation in fourth year? I'm going to be a fucking mess. My first day as an intern... I foresee myself turning to alcohol at some point in time.

It's all just a fucking mess. I'm so lost and done for and fucked up.

J

A Random Memory

A couple of weeks ago, there were about five minutes in which I was serving at the registers with R. We had a sudden rush so he had to jump in to help out. Of course, I was completely titillated by our close proximity (and yes, the use of that word is completely warranted here). But more so when he greeted a customer with a simple, "Yo."

To be fair, she was around our age. If it had been an elderly lady or businessman, my eyebrows would have shot up even more than they did. I glanced over but he was unfazed and busy scanning this girl's purchases.

It's things like this that really get me. Like when he had to do the closing call one evening (shit, this must be months ago by now) which is something he hates doing. As his final statement, he said, "Thanks for shopping with us today. Now get out or we'll lock you in."

He is ridiculous.

J

Kimbra - "Two Way Street"

Damn, girl. This is all sorts of amazing:



All sorts of sensuality and sexuality pouring out of this performance. I am enjoying it thoroughly.

J

He's Wiggin', Man

It's (very) possible I might just be a horrible, heartless bitch but the whole part in Say Anything when Lloyd and Dianne break up makes me laugh. As in, I'm chuckling when Dianne gets in her car and starts crying. Don't even get me started on when Lloyd is driving in his car in the rain with that ridiculous monologue.

I theorize that it's actually meant to be funny. The whole, "I gave her my heart and she gave me a pen," line is meant to get a laugh. Lloyd's voice when he's talking into the dictaphone is ridiculous, so dramatic and laughable.

"The rain on my car is a baptism."

Damn, Lloyd. That's some deep shit. This movie is a good relaxing half hour after a day of study. I really feel like a Subway cookie.

J

Frank Ocean - "Lost"

Well, that was hot.

J

Hype

I feel I have hyped up this mysterious blog post I intend to write too much. I will not tell you which blog post it is. I will judge whether it was worthy of the hype by the general reaction to it.

Be prepared for disappointment.

J

On Motivation

When I first started running with Little Mishelle, my motivation was to not embarrass myself in front of her. This worked for the first half of the run. By the second half, I would slow to a haggard, limp/walk and she would power ahead. I stopped caring about not embarrassing myself and started caring more about not falling onto the road out of exhaustion and getting run over.

When I started running this time around, my original motivation was imagining Zayn Malik running in front of me, his adorable British ass and hair luring me to hotness. This worked for a while then I stopped liking One Direction so much. When I started delving into my ongoing cresh (creepy crush? Fetch?), my motivation was, "Must get hot to attract R to have his babies."

This worked for about two seconds but then my mind would wander to, "What should we name our children? What would they look like? Would they look half White or barely White at all? How many quarter White people do you see on the street? WILL HIS PARENTS LIKE ME?"

Then I would shake my head and think, "Get your shit together, gurl. You are behaving with reckless abandon." (I usually try to limit my fantasies to at least partially realistic.)

All this thinking took too much brain power and my legs would slow down to a trudge. This is not conducive to running well (and getting hot and attracting R and having his babies. I'm not so fussed about meeting his parents. We can elope).

I recently downloaded this app, Zombies! Run. I may have mentioned it before but it uses your GPS to track your running and then tells you if there's a horde of zombies running after you, thus urging you to run faster to avoid a painful death or necrotic misery. I really want to use it... but I have no device to attach my phone to my body and I'm also scared some lunatic (not a zombie) will attack me because I'm distracted by my running away from zombies (very real zombies).

There is no real message or moral point of this blog post. I just wanted to share some of my thoughts on motivation to exercise. For the most part, guilt is my main motivator. But also the "Get Hot" thing.

J

That Time I Went There

There's this really nice young couple that always come into Officeworks (as in, I see them regularly but I only work one day a week during semester so this may be a skewed perception). They are very polite, they are really nice to each other (isn't it awkward when you get a husband/boyfriend and wife/girlfriend who are bickering or angry at their kids?) and just generally adorable. The guy is pretty good looking (again, a bit short for my tastes) but my thoughts never even wandered into fantasy zone (am I the only one who easily pictures my future life with random cute guys on the street?) because I'm basically in love with this couple. I don't even know their names but they are just amazing together.

I want to be godmother to their future children.

The point of this long winded, borderline stalker introduction was that they came into the store again yesterday. I saw them enter and smiled to myself (creepy). When they came up to the register to make their purchases, I hesitated for a moment then went for it, "Hey, did I see you guys last Saturday?"

There was a moment of silence. And then they both cracked up in embarrassed laughter.
"Probably, we basically live here!" said the girl.
"Oh God..." the guy kept saying, laughing in this cute embarrassed way. The girl was also somewhat embarrassed but gave less shits than her boyfriend.
"It's nothing to be embarrassed about, guys!" I said, laughing with them (we are basically best friends at this point). "It's just that I only work one day a week; Saturdays."
"Exactly!" said the girl. "You're here every Saturday too!"

At the end of our interaction (the Start of Something New, I should say. A new friendship has clearly blossomed. I fully expect to be appointed godmother/maid of honour), I said, "See you guys later. Have a good one!"
The girl replied, "Yeah, maybe we'll see you next Saturday!"

Oh, my God. I love them. I'm so effing weird.

J

Plaid

I saw R today for the first time out of his Officeworks uniform. As in, in the nude.

I played you. I did not see him in the nude. And that may actually be good because I imagine he's kind of pasty and pudgy underneath that blue polo t-shirt.

No, I saw him in his civvies. He came in for 15 minutes to help with some sort of technological difficulties (I know; is there anything more divine than a man who is good with his hands/knowledgeable/a pro at something?). I didn't see him come in but I saw him come out (that's what she said).

I saw that spiky black hair from over the various USBs and digital cameras. Bobbing as he walked and talked with his bff, K. At first, I didn't realize it was him as he was out of uniform. And when I did realize it was him, I had to stop myself from looking as I was overwhelmed by my sexual desire.

That is a lie. I stopped myself from looking because there is no thought more horrifying for me than R finding out I like him (this much). Which is stupid. As adults, we're supposed to tell fellow adults when we may have feelings for them. At least, that's what television tells me.

As he came closer, I finally looked up. We smiled. I asked him what he was doing there. He explained, said his goodbyes and left.

I'm sure you are fascinated to know what he was wearing (/sarcasm). Even if you're not, hear me out because I was incredibly fascinated.

For the last 6-7 months I have worked at Officeworks, I have often wondered what R's casual wear is like. I had my fears that it would be sloppy polo t-shirts that strain across his belly. Or seriously derro, $5 K-mart t-shirts paired with hand-me-down jeans (I still love you, K-mart).

Friends, I was pleasantly surprised.

From memory, he was wearing dark, reasonably fitted jeans, a black sweater thing (my words do not convey my meaning. Rest assured, it was reasonably attractive) and, oh my. I am now reaching the best part... A plaid shirt.

A PLAID FUCKING SHIRT.

You know of my feelings towards plaid, right? Plaid... See, my attraction to a man increases 10 fold if he is wearing plaid. You can imagine, it took a lot of self-control to not down R right then and there like a lioness takes down her pray in the African savannah.

To be fair, it wasn't my favourite kind of plaid (red). It was green and a light green at that. But still plaid. And plaid, my friends, is the world's best pattern.

For my parting words, I must note that his hair was tremendous today as well. It was incredibly voluminous and spiky and thick and amazing. It was, dare I say it, comparable to one Andrew Garfield (but in a half-Asiany way).

J