As my glasses fog and the coat of oil thickens, I thought I was already dead, and the motions merely a repeat of my accustomed activties. Yet I feel sensations of pain in my arms. But it could still be hallucinations, I thought.
It was Black Wednesday, where everything more or less went wrong. It was a big blow to my ritualized activties. I don't understand. That no matter how hard I try, my mire deepens. I detest groupwork. When expectations fall flat and get kicked in the stomach, you wonder where has the effort gone to, and why are you still kicking and alive, when there is no time for anything. And all for naught. I remain misanthropic and probably continue to be so.
The school could have very well fallen flat today.
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