Holy fuck. No CL 121 tomorrow.:o I haven't seen that jolly old bespectacled professor Capili in two weeks.:o Which grants me an inevitable dilemma: should I go to school or stay home? Just what the fuck am I gonna do with my six-hour break?? Count trees! Count fluffy clouds! Count colorful jeepneys!

I am attracted to creative, brilliant men. (And I also am attracted to sensuous, mysterious women.:p) It just so happens that this "creative, brilliant man" sitting in one of my classes is a GEEK. He is a rhetorician whose mouth when he opens it emits a noise mumbling and shouting, talking fast and slow, his eyes darting everywhere else but to the one he's talking to, and by the time he stops, there is silence; everyone balks, throats choked and tongues tied, and it illuminatingly sinks in, that he actually made perfect sense. And when such a man arrests me, I feign contempt, indifference, such that this logical lyricist made no sense at all, that what he just elucidated is a complete trumpery.

But at the corner of my eye, I stalk his every move, his mannerisms, his hand gestures, his favorite seat, the way he slouches or cowers in his chair, his favorite sweater, his favorite color, his favorite drink, the gliding up and down of his Adam's apple when he drinks from the plastic bottle, the clothes he wears in class, the side of his shoulder to which he slings his bag, the way he looks at me and forthwith avert his eyes, et cetera; I instinctively memorize him. Yet I provide no specific details; he can easily be identified, and I just want to revel at these tiny details that I keep for myself, like a secret. Wait no, it is a secret.XP

I want to ask him out, this Friday night, in a friendly, spontaneous butterfly way, like, "Hey, there's this blah blah at the blah blah on blahday blah o'clock. Thought you'd be interested. Wanna join?" Not that I'll say blah blah all through out, mind, that'd be a preposterous thing to do, as if my mouth slacked and my tongue had just about lost all its nerve cells. I want to pick his brains, pick his nose, and solve him like a 100×100×100 Rubik's Cube. But I don't have the nerve to ask him out. I am torpe.XP And such torpiness all the more contradicts the seductress Greek Siren side of myself. (I fancy myself a seductress, bugger off.XP) Most of all, I don't give a fuck if he's a geek. Geeks, like myself, are the meatiest of all earthlings. I am his predatory panther, he is my dear, deer prey, and together we are confined in the jungle of the classroom with just about all animals there are, including the professor, who is the, err, centipede.

I know we'll have anything and everything to talk about, chattering in grand scales about literature and films and lofty ideas and laughing all the way, in merriment, in ecstasy, and we'll have all the world wrapped around our conversations. But then again I am torpe; I don't even have the gall to look at him directly in the eyes, that every time he catches me gawking at him, I pretend to be looking at something from his behind. Oh lookit that fly! There's a fly levitating by the window!

Sister C and her family are off to a vacation until Sunday, which means, I have the whole house to myself! NYAHAHAHAHA.XD Ah, peace, ah, solitude, ah, silence, ah, what else. Holy fucking horseshit, I'll have to cook me own food! And wash them dirty dishes! And wash me own clothes! And clean me own room!:o I repeat, HOLY FUCK.

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