I'm all droopy and woozy. And so fat and physically inactive, and unattractive, and blah blah blah. I'm sick of running myself down, as you are. I can't work with balls! They hate me! Balls hate me! (Don't make it sound so dirty!)

See, this is the part where I'm going to say I'm fit to roll in the mud. I love mud, and it loves me. Haha, I'm still keeping my muddy Batam socks (which has hardened really disgustingly), and my bag which sank along with me is still unwashed. I also like to be dirty and disgusting and my motto is, 'If you're dirty, why not get dirtier?' I love oily faces and greasy hair, muddy shoes and smelly socks. I like the so called, 'extreme' drive thingy where you have these cars that drive through mud and hills and holes. Ah, how lovely. (And no, being a pig is not my lifelong ambition.)

I seriously need to jog tomorrow. And do Taebo. I suck at leg stuff. And since when did I start documenting my life?

Blah blah blah blahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

I miss James. Although he can be a tad religionist and a pain in the arse.

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