anotherlongshot (anotherlongshot) wrote,

The things that make life less unbearable, and the things that make it worse.

My mom showed me the Rolex ad in the Sports section yesterday, and it's become this:

I spent 5 bucks laminating the newspaper cut-out just to make myself a little bit happier at work. It's kind of worked - kind of. All I need now is a Roger Federer wallpaper, like maybe this one:

And just because I love him and his trophies, these pictures are great:


I've been feeling crappy the whole day, pretty much. From the minute I woke up right up to...well, right about now. I don't know why. It's not anything new. But this time, it feels less bearable than before.

Currently hunting for potential Roger wallpapers. Somehow, thinking about his win makes me a little bit happier, so at least there's that.

Still, this is a bit ridiculous: Apparently if I take half day (backed up by MC) I'd have to make up for it at the end of the whole thing. If I take two afternoons off they are equivalent to one day. That only makes sense if I only worked 5 days a week; but sometimes, I don't. If the requirement is 180 days, shouldn't the two weekends I spent back in the office count towards those days? Having to make up for time lost doesn't quite equate to making it up to ME for the time that I spent, which wasn't part of the legislative requirements.

I mean, really. This is a bit much. I went to see the doctor tonight about the never-ending stomach saga and he's going to refer me to a specialist, which means I'm going to have to take an afternoon off. The thought of having to make up for that pisses me off because, by virtue of the fact that I have worked three extra days, I should be allowed, so to speak, to just let it go. And this should apply to everyone, not just me.

I hate to say this but this period of my life is one of the worst periods of my life. Today, I feel especially sian; especially disillusioned; especially burned out; and especially unsupported. I don't know why. I don't want to think about it. I'm just tired and I just want to be left alone.

The bright side, I guess, to this whole stomach problem is that at least now I have a legit excuse to stop eating nonsense, in advancement of my goal to lose weight.

Then again, when have I ever needed an excuse to do something I want to do? Kate Moss hit the nail on the head: Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.

Qualification being, of course, I'm not interested in being skinny; I just want to be slim. I just want to maintain the size S. That is all. I have no aspirations to be some ridiculous 45 kg and I'm happy maintaining the 50. I can live with that. I think it's healthy. And to me, the perfect figure is that of a tennis player's - more specifically, Maria Sharapova's. Is she skinny? Hell no. Is she slim? Hell yes. Do I want her body? Fuck to the yes.

Very, very moody today.


To end this entry on a happier note, I shall ramble on more about the Australian Open final.

I am very much amused that Murray stuck to the tactic that won him those matches in his 6-4 record over Roger in the first half of 2009. Murray directs at least 70% of his shots to Roger's backhand, and before the Cincy semi-final last year, more than half of those rallies would end in a backhand shank by Roger. That was Murray's gameplan. That was how he played to "win".

He did the same thing in the final but he must've missed the highlights of the previous matches that showed Roger ripping winners off his backhand. Not just that - his backhand has held up under pressure admirably throughout the whole tournament. Even before that, towards the end of last year, his backhand stopped being his Achilles' heel. And just for that, I am tremendously proud of him - that he was able to make the adjustments, the necessary improvement, to stay in a rally that's trying to force an error off his backhand.

I don't know why the outcome of his matches affect me; but they do. If he'd lost on Sunday, I'd be on suicide watch right now. But because he won, and therefore he added yet another Grand Slam to his collection, I'm not that depressed.

Roger's brilliant. There's no other player like him. And I haven't even started on the things he's done off-court, how he organised a charity event right before the first day of the Australian Open to raise money for Haiti ("Hit for Haiti" - downloading it as we speak). He did the same thing in 2004 after the Indian Ocean tsunami.

I wish he could win Grand Slams every week.


Tired. Sleepy. Bed.

Tags: angst, australian open, pictures, pupillage, roger federer, tennis, work

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