Do not reply.

I told myself not to blog this week, but what the hey. If I flunk, I flunk, right?

Not good. Not good at all.

I haven't studied a thing, so I'm kinda panicking right now. Oh crap oh crap oh crap.

I never listen to me. Me is angry at I. As for Myself, Myself is partly hardworking.

Me needs to study. But I doesn't want to.

Wow, that sounded weird.

My body hurts. We accidentally pushed down that blue thing dividing us and the ping pong people when we were racing yesterday during training. Go team Brunei! We're so patriotic, we won even when we had an extra person. Woo~!

Sarah was there. So pinchable.

Yesterday morning. I woke up. There were pancakes for breakfast. But I realised one thing: WE WERE OUT OF PEANUT BUTTER.

It was a dilemma as bad as the sky falling. How could we be out of peanut butter? Why? Why? What did I do to deserve such monstrosity?

Oh yeah. I'm still not studying. Scratch out the previous question please.

After a breakfast of back-up (not so nice) peanut butter and honey on pancakes, we left for Chun's house. My cousin and I were practically hiding our faces; my brother wouldn't sit down and kept running about in the Audi. Argh.

Parent-teacher meet wasn't that bad. Cikgu Ramlah was on MC (that's Medical Certificate, not Master of Ceremonies) so my mum couldn't meet her. *cough unfortunately cough*.

The Borneo Bulletin reported in today's issue that our Pra-U parent-teacher meet was on Friday. Actually, it's on Saturday. 

Unreliable.

English letter writing:

26, Sunset St,

Oregon,

Ohio

24th September 1954

Dear Lilly-May,

       How many times have I told you not to write me letters anymore? I mentioned several letters ago that constant correspondence between the two of us is not safe anymore. Once you get this letter, you will stop pretending I write news about my life to you and destroy it immediately. I highly recommend burning.

        With that matter cleared, I am not fine, as you assume I am, but I am being plagued with several fruit bats who would like to steal fruit from the fruit-bowl I keep on my desk. The desk on which the paper on which I am writing this letter to you, to be precise. I hope you are well by the time you receive this particular sheet of paper, and I would be happy to receive no feedback whatsoever.

        How come I know our enemies are tracking these letters? Simple. I have seen then walk beneath my windowsill, examining every scrap of paper blown away by the wind, in hopes of finding the letters you send me. I know they have posted several of their members to work as screening officers in nearby post offices. Hence I send this dispatch by carrier pigeon.

All the best,

Your (secret) colleague,

Eloise.

PS. Please feed the pigeon upon its arrival. Assuming, of course, it manages to find you. It tends to get a bit grumpy if it goes hungry. Stupid bird.

PPS. Don't tell it I said that. I could get into serious trouble.

PP(P?)S. Don't reply.