Only three days before the one-week break is over. Damn. Feel like Sunday nights during my primary school years where I had to finish all my homework before the horrid Monday arrives. No, actually that was when I was in secondary school. Think I was much more hardworking and diligent with my school work when I was in primary school. Yes ma'am, I completed all my homework on Friday nights so I can cherish the remaining weekend guilt-free. Was I innocent and pure.
But that was when the dinosaurs rule the world and all the smaller animals were just running everywhere scared. Then the dinosaurs left and I got into secondary school. School work got pushed to Sunday nights when nothing interesting was on TV and I would be too tired from all the good fun I had for the past two days. But Monday is looming over in all its dark glory and the promise of being utterly humiliated for not doing your work when everyone else did kept me scribbling pointless essays and trying to trace the Malaysia map from the Geography textbook.
The horrible demons of laziness were just beginning to breed and soon, prosper.
Then someone cloned a sheep and almost everything else and I went to college. Life was quite tough then. It was a one year matriculation program with the whole civilization's, as painful and long as mankind took to prosper, worth of syllabus. Credits to my undeniable love for challenge and foolish arrogance, I took two Maths subjects. Most of the other subjects required massive and colossal amounts of studying as well. I wasn't really willing to sit in front of the Economics textbook for hours on end, digesting the many benefits of GST (hmph, right. Look who's worse off now.), but I couldn't really afford not to. Calculus was just Greek. I suffered, alongside my bandaged ego. The tougher it got, the more easily I got discouraged. Instead of smiling back at the face of defeat and charging ahead with fervent determination, I got bored and was only waiting to get out. Going to classes became somewhat optional. I would be the one watching TV when everyone else was busting their asses studying for tomorrow's test. I stopped caring, maybe too much. I even went to the final Calculus exam just to humour myself. It wasn't exactly a very mature reaction, all this giving up and losing hope and stuff, but I just kinda lost it then. I kept telling people that numbers are just not my strongest suit. It made a good excuse.
But somehow I made it through, and here I am. I'm doing something I really love here. No more horrible and scary maths stuff. I don't really have to force my facial pores to absorb all the words from the textbook anymore. Hell, I only have to go to uni three days a week and for this semester I only have to sit for two papers.
So why, oh why, can't I just start working on my (number-free) assignment tonight?