Crazy but fantastic. That's how I'd describe the transitory prelims.
On hindsight, they weren't as monstrous as they sound. Perhaps I'm just really forgiving-shrug. Nevertheless, they did give me a whole array of outbreaks. I became a museum of pimples. Monday was the preview showcase, Tuesday was the 'Members Only' kind of exclusive, Wednesday was the full blown display of Type 1, Thursday was Type 2, and Friday was The Finale.
Perfect!
And then, of course, misery begets misery. So while my face made money, my womb just had to inform me that I wasn't pregnant. Score! See? Practice makes perfect.
And they don't just come and go quietly like how normal cycles should. They flow so fast it hurts. Great.

Enough of my bodily ennui. The moment the hall speakers boomed," Pens down." I knew I'd always love exams. They provide a sense of profound relief that nothing has ever succeeded. Or so in my naive and immature eighteen years of life, of course. It is the intangible mass of knowledge, weighing you down with every passing day of the exam. Unable to use our tools of senses in quantifying the weight heightens its discomfort on my shoulders. Amazingly, the microphone that mediates those powerful words will be able to, like God's orders, instantly abate the toll. The mighty strength of words.
Planned out my weekend schedule. Sounds weird. Weekend? Haven't had a weekend in weeks. So at least I'd get some life back into me, hopefully! And revitalise myself for another round of weightlifting. Yeah, I'm preparing for the Olympics. You with me?