ade- your- bayor

i'm starting to get really frustrated watching arsenal play nowadays. something's gone horribly wrong with the team that was feared throughout europe as "the invincibles", having gone through an entire season unbeaten. somehow, the incisiveness that was a natural complement of their crisp passing game has been nothing short of elusive, and not to mention, that slick passing game too is starting to slowly fade away. looking at the amount of backpasses that were being sprayed around in the middlesbrough game, i honestly thought that i was watching watford play instead. someone needs to rise to occasion, grab the game by its jockstraps and just go for goal. here's hoping that it's merely a temporary problem.

i'm also starting to think that my brother is slowly turning into a football hooligan. being an ardent liverpool fan, he was constantly saying how he would love to throw 'a boot with metal studs' at andrew johnson's 'shiny bald head' and see how he 'would like it'. well if such a tirade doesnt offer justification for my niggling suspicions, i dont know what will.

straying off the football talk for awhile, for the sake of my legion of adoring female fans that might not like football that much no less, i'm absolutely gobsmacked by how the days seem to be getting shorter and shorter and passing by so quickly. i'm amazed at how one moment it would be 10 am and the next, without feeling the hours that such a leap naturally demands, it'd be 6 pm. as i then turn my attention to the copy of the glass menagerie on my table, i'd see that i covered an almighty 4 pages! how's that for progress!

i would then proceed to try and roll back any ill consequences by rushing through my work in the next few hours, before realising-- at long last-- that my brain would flatly refuse to indulge in any intellectual activity after 10pm. after which, i would then indulge in what has apparently become my new favourite past time-- wall watching.

i was thinking of writing another poem actually, but if i did, it would subconciously illustrate the fact that i spend too much time on this little rag page, trying to entertain all 1 of my readers that actually visit this green abomination. thus in the pursuit of satisfying my deep seated insecurities on whether i manage my time well, i shall banish my poetic thirst to the back of my mind-- or significant equivalent-- till the end of prelims. pity though, i quite liked the poem that was bubbling in my head.

since i started off talking about football, i shall try to end with it as well.

i want cesc fabregas' hairstyle.