Funny Dreams & A Tired State of Mind

Ok so... I had this really funny dream the other day... where I was being chased by some mafia mob people in a shopping mall. :\ silly thing was, I was getting shot at but I wasn't dying. Oh well.

And I thought A Tired State of Mind would be a somewhat possibly cool album title. =x
But nonsense aside. Pathet marks for CTs man. But on the plus side I got a B for an unseen poetry essay for Lit. :D :D
That and I got a D for GP which is quite good. Got to aim higher for a B or something heh.

Onward to tomorrow's CCA games plan. And BBQ yum yum.

sadly the one week break wasn't enough to meet up with some friends. But it was good nonetheless. Thank you guys for just chillin' and thank you Rahman for your cooking skills :D

Back to school week one. Already its getting fked up.. With extended timetable slots. Sigh. I get home everyday at 7. How the fishcake do you expect me to study... AWAKE. =.= Its bloody tiring lah morning till evening in school. And a Two day Study break isn't going to cut it.

Meh, but we all have great teachers in the school. Really crazy teachers actually... Hahaha

Heres a poem because I haven't put one up in a long time.


The Day Is Done

The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of Night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.

I see the lights of the village
Gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me
That my soul cannot resist:

A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain,

Come, read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of day.

Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of Time.

For, like strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life's endless toil and endeavor;
And tonight I long for rest.

Read from some humbler poet,
Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start;

Who, through long days of labour,
And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.

Such songs have power to quiet
The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction
That follows after prayer.

Then read from the treasured volume
The poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.

And the night shall be filled with music,
And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807-1882]