It is afternoon and I am walking home.
Look at that, 12 years seated in an English class and I still did not learn. My primary school English teacher would cane me thoroughly for that one. Or pinch me. She really liked doing that. Pinching innocent children like me who deliberately make grammatical mistakes on the inner part of their thighs.
Wait, do thighs have an inner and outer part, or does the term thighs refer only to the inner part? Biology was not my forte even when I had a national exam in the subject staring me in the face, I doubt it will become it today. Or any time soon. My mind is very busy. Half of a campus student’s mind is occupied with sleeping during the day and when they have CATs coming up and staying awake all night doing Lord only knows what.
Seriously, is that one part of the orientation process? Being taught to sleep when you need to be working and do useless things when you should be sleeping. (Not that that’s all they do by the way, but that should be a story all on its own.)But hey, pool at 12am will probably not contribute to your graduating with a first class honours but it is a hell lot of fun. (I say probably because maybe there are secondary effects.) And isn’t that the entire point of campus? Having fun. I think these are the points in time when I hope my parents do not read my blog. For all they know I am a diligent student who attends all lectures faithfully and spends every afternoon in the library afterwards. Which I probably do. Or probably not.
I was talking about thighs. Okay that too was a digression, but I had asked a question about thighs because I do not know and much as I can Google the answer, I do not want to at this particular moment. (I wonder what it feels like for your company to become a verb. I hope I give myself a first-hand experience answer many years from today. Not too many, just realistically many.)
I got to thighs because I remembered a particular teacher of mine from primary school who would pinch and twist the flesh of your thighs between her very long and very sharp nails. Come to think of it, I have no recollection of seeing short nails on her fingers. Maybe I wasn’t observant enough, maybe they were false nails, maybe she deliberately kept them long to use as a mini-weapon of terror on her students, I have no idea. All I remember was they were long and they did not leave fond memories of those incidents.
I got to her because I started telling a story by “it was.” Okay, I used a different tense but “to.mah.to, to.may.to”. She kept drumming it into our heads that starting a story with it was is a warning of a terrible story ahead. Looks like I did a great job then though, aye? 🙂
I actually wanted to tell a story about something that happened that day walking home, but as you can tell from the number of digressions within digressions in this story, my mind can’t focus right now. (Plus quite frankly I didn’t have that much to say. 🙂 ) Let’s just say it is preoccupied with things that are neither sleep, nor how I will get episodes of a program. I promise to try and come up with something coherent for the next piece though. 🙂