Sleeping alien babies as mentioned as written in thirty-nine. They give me the heebie-jeebies.

Number forty-three. I have a lot of wires I need to sort out.

Number forty-four. I really should be doing my math homework instead.

Number forty-five. I wonder if I’ll also be graded on this.

Number forty-six. My thoughts are getting shorter and shorter. Is the number related to age?

Number forty-seven. I wonder if one day I’ll say to people, “I’M REALLY ONLY ______!” and if they thought I was older or younger than that initially.

Number forty-eight. It was Christmas day and we were in Church. They were handing out mandarins. (And isn’t that meant for Chinese New Year? But maybe because we’re in China…) These mandarins were meant for children younger than eighteen. I was seated next to Joanna. The lady handed a mandarin to Joanna and skipped me.

NOW, WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?

Number forty-nine. I’m in the car and my dad is telling us… Stuff. Suddenly, he tells us of a conversation he had with a lady at a party.

“This woman asked me if Annabelle has a boyfriend. I said no and asked why. She asked if Annabelle was sixteen.”

I am not the girlfriend-type.

Number fifty. I am seated next to Joanna’s brother, Jonathan. He’s fifteen.

“Hey… You look older than my brother!”

Number fifty-one. I really AM sounding old for grumbling about this.

Number fifty-two. I have a piece of paper that I keep on my notice board. It has three poems about daffodils on it, and was handed out to us last year by our teacher. I’ve only read it twice since I put it up there. And the second time was only just now, so I could check if I was spelling “daffodils” right.

Number fifty-three. The fireworks continue in a slow motion. I wonder if it’s supposed to resemble a slowing heartbeat.

Number fifty-four. I went to my window, drew the curtains and looked outside because I realised that I was only HEARING these sounds, but not actually bothering to look at the “fireworks”. But when I got there, the sounds stopped, and there was no fireworks in sight.

Am I imagining things? Or was that a REAL slowing heartbeat?

Number fifty-five. Where did the term “yo” as a greeting, come from? I know of yo-yos…

Number fifty-six. I haven’t seen yo-yos in a long time! WHERE ARE THE YO-YOS?!

Number fifty-seven.
Wikipedia says:
“Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary states that the word Yo-yo “probably” derives from the northern Philippine Ilokano language word "yóyo", while allowing that cognate words appear in other Philippine languages. Many other sources including Panati’s "Extraordinary Origins of Everyday Things" say that "yo-yo" was a Tagalog word, supposedly meaning “come-come” or “return.” ”

So, when people say, “yo”, do they really mean, “come” or “return”?

WHERE DO I COME/RETURN TO?!

Number fifty-eight. I have this weird thing with fonts. When someone prints out a document in Times New Roman, I sometimes find myself wondering if they were too lazy to change the font.

Number fifty-nine. THE SOUNDS ARE BACK! But I am too lazy to go look again. How ironic. It’s like the pot calling the kettle black.

Number sixty. That’s the way the saying goes, isn’t it? Well, ISN’T IT?

Number sixty-one. While I’m typing this, I feel like I’m in a different place, and I realise that it’s 7.46PM now. Wow. It took me about an hour and five minutes to get this far.

Number sixty-two. But then again, I stayed up till five in the morning trying to finish up my five-paragraph essay.

“FIVE paragraph essays require me to write till FIVE in the morning.” Nice.

Number sixty-three. Joanna said I “self-praise”. I think I’m starting to agree.

Number sixty-four. I wonder if anyone else will see this besides Kimberly Teo.

Number sixty-five. I realised that Patrick is quite a common name. There’s even a holiday with that name!

Number sixty-six. 66. Two sixes. Hm.

Number sixty-seven. My dad said he used to give me bowl cuts. I’m starting to think that I have one now. But well, the person who cut my hair didn’t put a bowl over my head…

Well, there’s always imagination, isn’t there?

Number sixty-eight. There IS a big difference between one year and three.

Number sixty-nine. There are two red blotches on my bed from this morning.

Number seventy. Should I be bothered trying to get them out?

Number seventy-one. Wow. Tissues and water work. I shall tell all my friends.

Number seventy-two. I wonder, if I were to resemble a character out of a book or movie, who I’d be.

Number seventy-three. I wonder how many times I’ve listened to “Tiffany Blews.”

I checked. iTunes says, “105”.

Number seventy-four. I think if they made all computer software talk, I’d be freaked out. My dad tried playing me an audio book a few nights ago. I nearly ran away.

Number seventy-five. Voices help me get to sleep. Singers, people doing podcasts, friends on the phone… But now, I have a doubt about audio books… The weird thing about it all though, was that the night before I had dreamt that I was listening to an audio book to fall asleep and enjoyed it very much.

Number seventy-six. I had a dream about listening to an audio book. Is that weirder?

Number seventy-seven. It’s 8.04 PM now. Not a sight of the number seven.

Number seventy-eight. I wonder if I’ll live till seventy-eight…

Number seventy-nine. Three periods at the end of a sentence…

Number eighty. My phone is purple. Am I obsessed with my phone?

Number eighty-one. I’m thinking about having a shower, probably because that’s where I think most. I’m thinking about having a shower because I think I think more there.

I like repetition.

Number eighty-two. Imagine if everyone went around saying “Insert word here” like I do.
Yes, I literally go around saying, “Insert word here”. Tiffany inspired.
And no, not the one from the song.

Number eighty-three. I have just received an e-mail from “Facebook”. Probably to allow me to type more nonsensical things that will only make sense to me, and more likely, Vivien than Kelly.
Number eighty-four. I was virtually poked. Do people not care about my stomach cramps? Just now, my four year old brother jumped on me.

Number eighty-five. I’m thinking of Ella. I’m wondering if she’d get a kick out of this and make fun of me. She probably would.

Number eighty-six. If I were to post this online, I wonder if people who know nothing about me and had come across it would be annoyed that I’m mentioning names that mean nothing to them. I would be.

But then again, I brought it upon myself by reading the blogs of people I don’t know.

Number eighty-seven. I wonder if it’s alright to get irrationally mad at someone just because they don’t know the name of the place they’re currently at, and ask you where it is. I mean, after all, it IS Nina.

Number eighty-eight. I spelt the name wrong. Is it my fault now?

Number eighty-nine. Teddy bears are cute when they have the message "Seed you. :3" attached to them.

Number ninety. Tiny, flying apples of doom being hurled at innocent people.

Number ninety-one. I wonder why it’s taking me more than an hour to get this done. Don’t people get stuff like this done quicker? Aileen asked me what I was writing.

Number ninety-two.
aileen(: says:
woah xD hehe at one moment, you can think of so many things xD

She makes a very good point. It is not taking me a moment, but a few hours.

Number ninety-three. I’m controlling myself to not let all my thoughts out.

Number ninety-four. I should be letting my actual thoughts out. Should I virtually poke the poker back?

Number ninety-five. Do asterisks sound vulgar? I kind of pity them. They look like snowflakes, really, but they’re being used to cover up the things that people say…

Hmm. Maybe they ARE made of awesome, then.

Number ninety-six. I make no sense.

Number ninety-seven. Sense. Cents. Fifty cents. A penny for your thoughts, please.

Number ninety-eight. Pink shoes. Pink glittery shoes.