No, chums. My heart does not ache in any manner whatsoever.

And why have I titled the title so n00bishly? Because, being a n00b of the trade, I pressed the caps lock button. Being the lazy n00b I am, I didn't give a damn.

I've been suffering from heartburn snce the age of seven. Heartburn is something usually old men get, and seeing as I am neither that in age or gender, it's rather embarrasing. The only way to rectify this qualm is to drink a lot of water and eat non-greasy foods.

I swear I haven't breached these laws today! (Ok, maybe I ate something that was relatively oily.) Who cares? Live a little. Suffer the consequences later. My sternum area is creaking with pain. Save me!

Anywho. Moving on. So distressed that the long holiday is over. *weeps and wails* I loved getting all those days off. I really felt relaxed. But I feel rather guilty, not having done any work.

I have to write my english narrative. Now, I don't get why this s so difficult for me. I'm always concoting stories in my head when I walk, when I'm on the bus, when I lament before I drift off into slumber, when I look at someone's artwork. My head just starts racing like a time bomb.

Today, I wrote a story. I didn't finish it yet, but the plot-bunny came from Opal's drawings (one of them). I just started writing madly. And then I got pooped out. Kinda like a marathon. You're running and you want to win teh cup so badly. So at the start, you give it every thing you've got, pushing every cell forward. You see yourself propelling forward, you're ahead of everyone else. Your only thought is "Yes, I'm going to win! I can make it!" You're desperate enough to butcher your own mother to win! (oK, morbid much?) And some loser comes up from the back and flies right past you, as if they were talking their Sunday stroll.

Alright, I admit. I disgressed. Big time. Infact, that didn't really have much to do with anything. I was just writing when I got so tired I tried to go on, but this time, time itself beat me.

Now that sounds lame when you juxtapose it with my earlier melodrama.

But yeah. This was nothing, something that's been floating for sometime. I didn't even make an effort to write well. It just flowed out, riddled with oodles of errors.

But my english narrative? Oh NO. I have an idea, one that would terrorize the whole planet! (Melondrama. It isn't that good.) But hey! It's planned out all in my head and I can't see to type up even a bit. For three nights, I typed out 200 words, edited, took it down to 150, andfurthermore editing brought it up to the grand total: 200. Surprise.

Why? Is it because I know it's actually going to be for some purpose? Not just wasting my time? Isit because this time, it's worth something big of my final marks?

I only have a little more than a week left, but piled with all this other homework, I really can't write it.

It's times like these I hate.