The BLOOD test was farking painful. Like when I was young, I tried to distract myself by thinking of ice-cream. Unfortunately it did not work (preferences and priorities must have changed over time). So I tried to think of something else nice. And I dunno why but my mind decided to pick kissing (?). I started thinking about how blood rushes about faster when you’re kissing then I started thinking about my own blood rushing into the test-tube or whatever and then I could feel the needle pushing itself in under my skin and flesh…. *goosebumps*. So that did not work either.

Then later in the evening I went to take my photo for my visa. I went to the shop and the lady told me to change into something with a collar because according to some great logic, my sleeveless top would somehow not be visible in the photo and I would then look naked. So I went home and changed. Then I went back to the shop. Then the lady said I would have to tuck my hair behind my ears. Okay, I know it is fucking stupid to get into a fight over my hair but you know how obsessed I am over it. Some more, before that I’d already susah-payah went and blowed my hair nicely to take the stupid photo. And then she told me I have to push my fringe off my forehead also. You know my fringe, right? How the hell am I supposed to push it off my forehead when it’s all straight and coming down nicely over my forehead?

My father kept yelling and me to push back my hair but I was already trying to without messing it up and getting very irritated and stressed. Then he came over and starting sweeping it in the WRONG direction. So I screamed and there started World War III in the tiny little photo shop. By that time I didn’t care already that the other customers were all staring at me. In the end, I went home AGAIN and pinned up my hair, plus my mother combed out my lovely curls cos she said its too messy and brought mousse and a comb back to the stupid shop and finally took the photo (which I know I look like shit in because it’s damn difficult to smile nicely when you’re pissed. I probably look like a serial killer).

And then, when I got home and went up to my room (and after remoussing my hair and blowing my fringe again), what do I find but ants on my wall! Out comes the insect spray, but after spraying the fucking wall THREE times, I still see more and more ants coming out! What are they, immortal or something? So it’s time to call the heavy artillery, which is none other than Mummy Ooi.

Mummy Ooi stormed upstairs armed with 3 packets of powder poison, which actually works in a very sneaky and evil way. You scatter the poison all over the ants’ trail and then they’ll take it back to their nest, thinking it’s food and eat it and die in the nest. I felt very very wicked while watching Mummy lay the poison. It seems a much more inhumane way to kill ants than by just spraying them. Like you secretly kill them with poison, whereas when you spray them at least you’re being upfront about it. Then I started to feel sorry for the ants cos they looked so busy and productive, unlike the human here. But then I thought of them attacking me while I sleep then I didn’t feel so bad anymore.