It does not help that am sitting on my ass a good whole day most days while trying to nail my books. Makes me sluggish and like a total piece of whale blubber, alongside the constant fatigue that leeches on my back. Talk about having a fat day. Bummer. Days like these make me wish that the vacuum cleaner was multifunctional and backs up as a liposuction machine.
To that particular you who calls me a fat ass, whom a close boy friend calls a mole for a reason, that being your inadequate and inferior eyesight despite telling me you have twenty twenty vision and can quality to be a pilot; you better not say a word or there will be a whole lot of moledom wished upon you, amongst other girlfriends who would smack you silly for even daring to think those hideously asinine words. And to quote a girlfriend, “no amount of cuteness" is going to save you.
In all honesty, the fat kid in me is just dying to chug a gigantic bar of chocolate and stuff myself silly. Admittedly, it is a pathetic attempt to comfort and assuage the examination phobia. Heaven forbid that it would get the better of me, although it cannot be denied that it could be a possible reality.
Fear could potentially cause me to convulse into a state of hyperventilation.
Hyperventilation could possibly cause serious damage to my physical condition; killing me, slowly, surely, bit by bit.
Fear, therefore, kills me, inside; finishing me off little by little, until there is really nothing left behind.
On second thought, if fear does not get to me first, atherosclerosis will.
What a way to go. Brilliant.