January 25th, 2010

Charah coffee

How could I forget?

Oh yeah - I passed the bar. Along with everyone else in the cohort save 3.

Clearly, congratulations are not in order. And I wonder if it's even possible to celebrate something that one achieved when one wasn't exactly in the mood to achieve in the first place; and in such a scenario, could it even be called an achievement? I guess in the narrow sense of the word it is - it's something that I got. In the broader sense, though, with all the connotations of an achievement being something one wanted and one worked for, I don't really think so.

Besides, the fact that I didn't fail a single module means that the exam was a joke. I'm glad like you wouldn't believe that I don't have to redo Commercial Practice, but if you asked me what happened, I wouldn't have the slightest idea. I don't know anything about it, and I still hate it.

Time to sleep.

Charah coffee

In with the new.

I'm not a fan of the new building. I don't like the pupils' room they've put me in - four of us squeezed into one tiny room, with one more girl joining us sometime later. There are no windows and my computer screen faces the door. That's fine, 'cause I don't do anything much outside of work apart from email Mag on Gmail and for this week, monitor the Australian Open matches on the website.

But I miss my space. I need my space. I have not bothered to unpack the stuff in my box because there's no space to put anything anyway, and the room feels claustrophobic and miserable. I went to Olivia's cubicle and was very much envious of the space that she had (and has).

If I start producing work more subpar than the stuff I've been producing, we all know what to blame (and who to blame, too).

Apart from the room, I'm not used to having to go out of the office to use the toilet. There's also no sink inside the office, and the only available sink is outside the toilet.

The lift takes forever to arrive. I think I waited five minutes for the damn lift when going back from lunch.

I really don't like the room. I like my roommates, but I don't like the room. I don't like the room at all.



Poor Lleyton though, just can't catch a break...well, he did break Roger in the third set but immediately got broken back and Roger served it out at 5-4. But oh SHIT, the fucking winners that man was producing - they weren't fucking human. They were just INCREDIBLE. All his passing winners, his backhand up-the-line, that fucking amazing lethal forehand - I LOVE THIS MAN SO MUCH I CAN'T DESCRIBE IT. His tennis is electrifying. It's out of this world. I CAN'T freaking comprehend how he comes up with some of those shots, like this insane passing winner he squeezed into the tiny little corner of the box at the left baseline. I mean, really. REALLY. And this high backhand volley that won him the point in the first set - the commentator went, "Who says he can't play badminton?"

He plays Davydenko next. I wouldn't be worried except he's lost to Davy the last two times they played, and so I'm worried. He MUST reach the semi; he hasn't lost before the semi since...okay, I can't count, so let me rephrase: He's made 22 consecutive SF appearances in grand slams and I want him to make it 23. I want him to beat Davydenko. And then beat whoever else and WIN THE AUSTRALIAN OPEN. He has to get the Grand Slam (all 4 slams in one year) sometime before he retires, and it's obviously got to start with the Australian Open.


Okay I'm really tired. I haven't slept before 1 a.m. in more than two weeks and it's taking its toll on me. Mag said I looked pale today when we met for lunch so I better sleep.

I love meeting Mag for lunch, by the way. Makes everything feel better, even if it's just for an hour.