Fission Mailed
It was unthinkable, that Nadal, world number two, would be utterly obliterated by a bolt out of the blue in the guise of an unseeded Jo Tsonga, and neither was, of course, tennis top salt Roger Federer succumbing to Djokovic, who was third from the top in his own right, in three straight sets, even. It was, without a doubt, an amazing feat, because they chose not to falter when the monster under the bed came running after them. Grabbed the bull by its horns, they say.And so I finally begin to understand why it's better not to brood, for one tends to rationalize why this is impossible, or why that is unlikely, or why we have so little time for so much, or why she won't like me because I look like crap or whatever. Time gets lost weighing chances, less work gets done, player loses. Unlike me, they didn't.
It was, I'm afraid, too little too late for redemption, one point five the highest GPA I could ever hope to achieve this term, barring, of course, the not-so-uncharacteristic boo-boo's, the lapses, the reservations, and the things in between. For someone who had resolved in completely doing otherwise, I've actually simply fallen back to the line, the dreaded line, of mediocrity. I have only myself to blame, for, well, bickering too much, getting bitter over things, losing tempers and what-not.
It goes without saying that I'm only resolving to shut the hell up and start working, but I'm saying it anyway. So there; goodbye.