Remove Uber Alles.

Haven’t blogged in a while. Was a good day today. I woke up to the sound of my friend who’d immigrated, she’d come for a visit and somehow I managed, with only 6 hours of sleep, to hear her and wake up a room away. She got taller. I had to stand on the tips of my toes to hug her.

My ex-best friend called out of the blue yesterday to help me with my Maths sheet. I didn’t even ask. We hadn’t talked in three years. It felt odd. You know when you fall out with a good friend and then you talk to them years later and it doesn’t feel like they were gone at all? You pick up where you left off. I don’t even remember why we fell out anymore. It was..nice.

I hate fighting with people. It bugs me, so I always make sure that the ones I get into fights with are ones that I wouldn’t exactly miss, because what bugs me even more than fighting with people are grey areas. So when I actually do get in fights I get massive guilt attacks and always make sure they’re over by apologizing excessively no matter whose fault it was because life’s too short. It’s way to fucking short. If that doesn’t work, I end up castrating them. An old friend used to say I Undo people more than I do them. lol God I miss him. Fuck immigration.

I ran for two and a half hours yesterday. I can’t feel anything below my chin. This is better than hash.

Grandma just came over with a chocolate caramel cookie ammunition. Today is a good day. Despite the fact that I almost missed class, had a fight with an invigilator and ended up intimidating them – lol that never fails to make me laugh – fell out with a friend and removed their entire contact information from my cell phone and msn and met another who’s leaving in two weeks.

Sometimes life needs chocolate cookies to move on.

*Crickets*

Regardless of the fact that it took me exactly 74 minutes to muster up enough oomph to get out of bed, it felt good to sleep after two days, on the clock, sleepless. God it felt good. This is dope. I’ve been sleeping for 10 hours. 10 HOURS PEOPLE! I demand a standing ovation! That’s double my usual sleeping hour quota on a good day.

By the power vested in my by the rush of coffee in my veins and molten gebna roomy in my mouth, today is gonna be a good day. There are always two ways to look at stuff you know, Imma put on one of em funky 70’s glasses and make sure I see everything the right side up today. Or not, whatever makes it look better.

I dreamt that I got shot. – Dreaming is good.

I slept for too long and now I don’t have enough time to study for both of my finals and am gonna have to wing one. I haven’t slept that well since the 4th of Jan. – Sleeping is good.

I snapped at people for no reason at all and made an ass out of myself because I was pissed. And it felt good. – Catharsis is good.

I had a fight with a friend. I spent 7 minutes making her feel like shit. It was the right thing to do. – Shutting people up when it’s due is good.

I’m hungry and there’s nothing in the fridge. – Molten gebna roomy smells awesome.

I lashed out at 5 people yesterday. Most of them are now giving me the silent treatment and those who aren’t called to settle the debts. I’m actually enjoying it. People should shut up more often. – Silence is good.

I’m not gonna write the other stuff. Shoo.

I’m Tired.

W Ba3dein?

Isn’t it ironic that I missed an exam because I pulled an all-nighter studying for it?

Isn’t it even more ironic that I’m about to do the exact same thing? Again?

Isn’t is funny how I don’t give a fuck anymore but am still gonna study my ass off because that’s the right thing to do?

How We Swallow The Sun.

It’s A Sad Sad Situation, And It’s Getting More And More Absurd.

Why do people do stuff? To get satisfaction. Why do people do stuff if they’re satisfied? To get more satisfaction. Why do people do stuff if they can’t get any satisfaction out of it? Because they think that if they try harder they’ll get it. What happens when people are completely and utterly satisfied? They stop working.

So it’s safe to say that a functional individual doesn’t feed off of satisfaction? A functional individual is ultimately a robot. You work because..you just work. You work to work.

No.

You work to sleep better at night.

You work to actually get any sleep at all.

Due to the ongoing anal rape I’ve been undergoing because of the accumulating overdue work that I’ve ultimately had to deal with because I was sick last week and missed class, I’ve come to the revelation that work actually makes you sleep better at night. Not in the manner that you get satisfaction so you sleep with a clear conscience. Haha, no. It knocks you out cold. You work hard enough and you don’t have to worry about the stuff you keep thinking over before going to bed simply because you just pass out as soon as you’re in the vicinity of a flat surface. Side effects might include you snapping out at the average Joes that roam that exact same vicinity. It’s funny really. Everything seems to work itself out as soon as you stop trying to work it out yourself. I never thought I’d live long enough to hear myself saying that last sentence. I’ve always had a certain God complex that led me to try and control everything all the time, and believe with every fibre of my being that I can get anything around me to work just the way I want it to with enough work put into it. I still do believe that, to a certain extent. However, for that to happen, the things involved have to be 1) Objects. 2) People that are putting forward an equal amount of effort. Luckily for my career – since the latter don’t exist – books are categorized as objects and I’m still nuts.

Pros to overworking yourself might or might not include:

1. Sleeping.

2. Snapping at assholes.

3. Sleeping some more.

4. Snapping at more assholes.

5. Getting over heartache, psychological angst and whatever human derails you might have conjured up simply because work turns you into a robot that has no feelings, or rather has absolutely no time for aforementioned feelings.

6. Burning Calories. That’s also called burning out, but whatever floats your boat.

7. Better career opportunities. Yes, I actually just wrote that.

8. Less time on your hands to actually live and make impulsive mistakes that happen because you’re a no-thinking train wreck entirely made of gut.

9. You’re no longer an active Hikikomori, but then again you’re no longer an active anything.

Ana Kbeeeeeeeera!

I’m big.

I’m huge.

I’m a giant.

I’m invincible.

I own the whole goddamn world.

Ana kbeera fash5. Ezzay ana kbeera keda.

I’m old enough to drive in Egypt and to do drugs in Holland.

I’m an Adult.

Ana ‘KBEEERA’!

I’m no longer the kid nobody listens to.

I’m old enough to do a lot of things and get away with it.

I’m humongous!

I’m 18.

I’m old enough to hit on older guys and not get the “I’m sorry, but I’m not a pedo” line.

The world WILL stop and listen to me when I say this:

‘ANA KBEERA!’

And it will go Aww.

That’s when I’ll hire people to kill them.

Because I’m old and I can.

Drop everything you’re doing and listen carefully, because I’m big now.

I’m a member of the tall serious beings association, whether they like it or not.

The government thinks I’m old enough that it can put and ID card, a driver’s licence, a cigarette and a bottle of wine in my hands all in the same year.

The government thinks I’m superman.

I’m awesome.

I’m Kbeera.

I’m Not One Of Those Who Can Easily Hide.

So How Old Are You Now? –18. Ya3ni Ba2eity Sha7ta.

Are You Hearing What I’m Hearing?

Apparently I was running a little more temperature than within the norm, and I gotta say man, this shit is dope. I’ve never slept so much. I think I fell asleep about five times today, last of these I was asleep and had the laptop and cell phone piled up with all the books and stuff on the bedside table then I got woken up by something. I was not able to identify what it is. At that time, it took a while to tag it as ‘sound’ and a little more energy than would normally be required for that realization to evolve from ‘sound’ into ‘music'. Something is playing music. Now you see, make note of the fact that I wasn’t all up there, or maybe too much of me shot up there would make a better metaphor. So, following what seemed logical at the time, I thought the best thing to do would be to bang on my laptop keyboard. Not turn it on, not wake it up, not turn it off, no. Bang on its keyboard. Somehow the banging and fingering got the laptop on and I could still hear the music. What the hell was I thinking? Laptops don’t make music when they’re turned off, and if it had been sleeping the banging woulda definitely woken it up. That infernal tune was still there! Some time later, I was like “waaaait a second..”, used the laptop screen light and utilized the recently acquired conclusion after a belated ‘aha’ moment that there’s this invention called ‘cell phone’, that this extraterrestrial music was ‘ringing’ and that inebriated retard on one side of the call was me. That took a while to figure out too, since I couldn’t quite locate who was speaking in the dark. Hint? There was nobody else in the house.

Damn I was high.

Colds are awesome. I’m getting more sleep, a three-day break from all the work – not that I actually have a choice I couldn’t quite function when I kept passing out like a dog on mushrooms and shivering in front of the heater with more vibrating momentum than dad’s sacred electric latte/cappuccino whisk – I’m not eating so that’s a great diet, I’m not tasting anything anyway so I don’t mind not eating, hell, I’m not even thinking. This is awesome. You just hibernate for a couple of days. The only downside to the whole package is that I can’t taste coffee. My precious precious morning coffee tastes slightly different than the boiled water that my mom used to boil the corn. So that’s no coffee too, for these whole three days of rehabilitation. And the nutty part is, wait for it, I DON’T EVEN MIND THAT ANYMORE! Can you believe that?

No wait, what the hell am I saying? That can’t be right, it just can’t be right. I must be running a temperature again.

Let’s rewind that last sentence again and see where the fuse went off, shall we?

…precious morning coffee tastes slightly different than the boiled water that my mom used to boil the corn. So that’s no coffee too, for these whole three days of rehabilitation. And the nutty part is, wait for it, I DON’T EVEN MIND THAT ANYMORE! Can you believe that?  And it’s driving me crazy! My taste buds are activated by caffeine, how the hell are they gonna be of any use now?

Now that’s more like it.