I like her cuz she’s smaaaaaaaaaaaall, but she’s still sexyyyyyyyyyyy, she’s something ehehehelseeeeee..dududu

Canned Happiness. Oh Yeh.

Warning: Overuse Of Word ‘Thingies’ And Abuse Of Metal Midgets.

So after a failed attempt at sleep, my conscience drags me out of bed back to my Chem assignment. However, I decide that I want coffee. I’d already seen dad work that espresso maker like a DJ would. So, I head to the kitchen and stare at the tiny little metal beast and it stares right back at me, flaunting its chest – front piece – like a confrontational midget. I recall the image of my dad pushing some projection sideways, so I do that. After a little fumbling I get it right and as I run tap water on the coffee corpses from the last mug trial, the filter falls off. I put it back on, taking a bit of time till I found where the part goes in. Then, I find out we ran out of our favourite espresso brand, Lavazza. If I remember dad correctly, it’s practically impossible to make espresso out of anything else. Since I’m not god, I settle for the next best solution after creating me some leisure beans. And that is mixing em. I look for coffee and all I find is the plain old Turkish blend. I put some of that in, pat it with the weird projection patting thingie, and keep shoving the thingie back in but it wouldn’t stick! Took me a couple of minutes and spills to find out what goes where, then it’s finally intact. Then comes the punch line of the plot, the one that decides whether this is gonna be a light romance or a horror story. The knob. With the virtual mug middle-fingering me with a sarcastic twirl of steam. I look on to the signs and drawings and remember what my dad pressed and I do that. The machine starts howling. I panic. I pat it. It shuts up somehow. So I head up for the steamer, another projection which heats milk by blowing steam. After about four attempts of having it pee all over the place, it finally manages to spray properly enough for this not to work as a TWSS joke. I put the milk in a mug, making it big enough because I know how much of a klutz I am, and I shove the thingie in it. It starts to moan. “Eeeeeeeeeeee eeneeeeneeeneeee weee weeew weee eeeee eee eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee neeeeneeeee prgh fot fot eeeeeeeee”. How come when I touch it it moans like a friggin cat in labour and when dad does it purrs like a helpless kitty? I panic. It’s dad’s baby. He’d slaughter me. Then as the moans ascend and the milk descends, all over my clothes, I burst into a fit of laughter, bringing my dad to the kitchen the sight of the espresso maker spraying hot water at me out of the place where I should’ve put the lock on the coffee pit and didn’t, out of the steamer and overall out of the metal midget which was halfway off the ledge preparing to attack me with my holding the mug in place halfway in the air, blowing on my right knuckles that got scalded by its ninja splash attack and using my knee to push it back in.

THEN

A stream of beautiful yet reluctant coffee drips out of the nipple like projections. Halfway into the mug, my dad takes over with the declaration that it’s not a cow. “And what the hell are you making coffee in the microwave?” He says. “Well I couldn’t heat the milk with this thingie because it kept wailing like a hungry three-year-old and I decided to save it and myself the agony”.

On dad’s cue to clean up after myself, I unlock the coffee pit to clean the filter only to have it spurt hot water at me like a friggin cobra! “OOOOOOOWWW you little sdflasdjf@#Jkhlo  ,,|,  AAAAAAH”.

The cappuccino tasted awful. And in case  you were wondering, the metamorphosis was right around the point where it was too light to be called espresso and too dark to qualify as anything else. I got scalded, multiple times, I nearly burned the coffee – and yes apparently that IS possible – the espresso maker almost imploded and I am now, as pathetic as I feel admitting it, officially scared of the damn thing! But I got coffee out of the coffee maker. :) Took me 8 months but I did. AND I AM AWESOME!

OH and guess what? After that last episode, dad promptly offered to make me espresso any time I feel like having one.

Oh yeh.

 

The greatest thing in the world is to know how to belong to oneself. ~Michel de Montaigne

 

Love me oh Lord, he threw me away. He laughed at my sins, in his arms I must stay.

Why fear death? Be scared of living.

Ice Cream

Nobody makes sense anymore. Everything makes sense. Maths makes sense. People don’t. People fucking don’t. People don’t make sense. They make everything, except sense. I want sense.

 

Young believers,
come and see her,
she has pushed him,
to the ground,
though with one hand,
he could break her,
with one hand split her in two.

If You’re The Nice Guy That’s All You’re Getting.

Chem All-nighter + Espresso = Sane.

Today Is Gonna Be The Day But They’ll Never Throw Em Back To You.

Life Lesson #180: Don’t ask for help. You won’t get it, and when it’s been acknowledged it gets harder to deal with. Everything is just easier when nobody knows about it, you know? And it is, sorta, pathetic, too.

Life Lesson #181: “There are many things that I would like to say to you but I dunno how.”

Life Lesson #182: I’m scared.

Life Lesson #183: A friend once told me that if something’s not given to you, then there’s no use nagging about it because they’re not gonna get it anyway. I don’t believe that. If that was true I’d be dead by now. And that’s the best case scenario.

Life Lesson #184: Drinking tea will not insult Coffee’s feelings. Sometimes it’s nice to take a break from the things you love, because if you love them too much they could kill you.

Life Lesson #185: Goodbyes are as mythical as phoenix and bigfoot. But then again, if they never existed, how come the nomenclature receipts them?

Life Lesson #186: “By now you shoulda somehow realized what you’re not to do.”

Life Lesson #187: Sleep is good.

Life Lesson #189: You did not notice I skipped one.

Life Lesson #188: More often than not, people only notice it when you’ve pointed it out. So don’t.

Because I Can.

And so I’ve learned not to show.

It’s not going away. It’s not fucking going away.

FML

Today I found out that taro’s white and not green. I thought it was a bald coconut. I still dunno where the green comes from. #FML

Conveniently enough, after half an hour of getting home, having lunch and watching TV, my dad points out that I still have my backpack on. I’d already used the bathroom. #FML

I got rejected for the fourth time in two years. I was the one who asked them out, as usual, and I didn’t get a reason, as usual. Now I sort of expect it and do it for the rush. Now I know for sure that there are 4 people out there who think I’m a full-blown psychotic, net profit that is. #FML

On the bright side tho, I finally got the hang of chemical conversions. About time. The evaluation quiz of that chapter is this week. #FML

After an hour of trying to drag me out of bed for Chem class, my dad manages to wake me up with a 2-second phone call. Needless to say, he took it personally and we didn’t go for ice cream today. #FML

I’ve had my hair up in a bun for four days. I think it works well with my over-sized brown hoodie. The human race doesn’t seem to agree. I couldn’t care less. #FML

I have 3 people that I don’t know who keep following me around in classes. I don’t remember missing a birth control pill, but they seem to think I’m their momma bear. #FML

Wherever I seem to sit, the tallest girl in class always, by pure karmic powers, ends up in front of me. I spend all class bobbing sideways like a bottle in the fucking ocean to get a decent view. More often than not, I don’t. #FML

A certain invigilator seems to think of me as more of a hand-rest than an actual person. I’ve been getting more action from her than I’ve had in, well, my 18 years of existence. She doesn’t seem to notice. I don’t know her first name. #FML

Rejected From Hell.

After After Hours High.

There’s nothing more to say. There’s absolutely nothing more to say. I’ve had all the assurance I want and now everything is crystal clear about everything there is and I know exactly what to do about everything. All I need to do know is muster up enough of what’s left of the infamous balls that got me the aforementioned assurances to actually follow through with what should be done. There’s no such thing is waiting for your gear to lock in, really. I’ve tried that, it doesn’t jumpstart, you gotta warm it up. And there’s absolutely nothing you can do about work except doing it. Most of you would say that’s why it doesn’t work most of the time. But as vague as this is, it’s crystal clear. I just gotta show myself that I can make this work as much as I can ruin it, so that when I do want to ruin it again it’s as fun and guilt-free as a bowl of ice cream on a hot day. Adrenaline rush is as fun as it is scarce, otherwise it’s just boring. It’s so easy to let everything just fall apart and sit back and watch it crumble, and dare I say a wee bit fun too. But at some point you gotta see that you don’t deserve ruining everything you’ve ever worked for your whole entire life just because you got a little more bugs on the windshield than your wipers can handle, right? you just gotta get out there and scrub em out old school with a rag and get on with it. It’s sanaweyya boot camp for a couple of months then I can get back to my whole 'fucking-stuff-up-for-fun’. Yep. That sounds about right.

After Hours High.

'You're Rory'

'as in the you're the little sheep whose best friend is an abusive cow and doesn't know anything about life except that it's around the area where there's enough clover, your Jedi is an over aged goat who's angry at life for no apparent reason and you meditate by watching your fellow pig eat?'

'Nah, more like you're the closest thing to a cartoon character who's exceptionally radiant on their own, yet who's cynical attachment to life is through the potential anger and irony of the seemingly tough, yet harmless, people you're surrounded by.'

Of Cucumbers That Don’t Satisfy.

There’s so much rejection one can take, really. Then it’s Bitch Mode – Full Throttle. Except that by bitch I mean I’m not gonna try anything of the sort again and just stay away from the whole department. Okay then it’s Emo Mode – Full Throttle, or nawh, that doesn’t quite capture the whole essence of it. Veggie Mode – Full Throttle. Yep. That’s about it.

Kefaya. Never again. Never.

Haha, no. Imma still do it and imma come here and write about how much of an idiot I was. I’m badass like that.

I Do It For The Wobbles.

There’s not much you can do to help anybody, you can only love them hard enough for them to know that somebody else cares for their fuck-ups for when they don’t, so that when they don’t remember to do that for themselves they have that constant reminder that their breathing pattern still counts into circulating the air around you.

Was a long day today. Had two classes, I slept well too; my body just decided to shut down for 12 hours. I have another one of those all-dayer-no-nighters tomorrow, then it’s the weekend. It’s odd how sleeping hours are something you toss around the week rather than have as a constant every day. How fucked up can life be for one to bargain sleep to get a life when they still want to get work down? It’s not right. But then again nothing is right and wrong anymore, there’s what works and what doesn’t, what you can live with and what pushes your buttons. That’s all there is to it really. That’s the one thing to get down in order to ‘grow up’.

I couldn’t find my crows today. The tree – the one I used to watch – had a beautiful little nest of crows up where no other creature could reach. I watched two generations of those from my desk; my tiny little hang out on the remote side of our flat. I had it laid out with all my stuff there for when I wanted to shut out the world and I used to put a blanket and a couple of pillows on top of the desk and just lie there on the ledge and watch em with my laptop or phone or whatever. I watched while the little ones grew up and started to move around the farther branches, then flew around a bit and constantly crashed back into the nearest extension. Then I watched as they moved out and kept coming back every other week. Then they were just gone over the winter. The nest is undone, it’s this little desolate wreck now, slightly tumbling out of place. I wonder what happened to the old couple. They didn’t move that much towards the end. Where do crows go to die? How come I never see any carcasses lying around under trees? Is it nature’s way of telling us she can handle her own shit without our pathetic efforts of cleaning up after it? Hell, we can hardly clean after ourselves, no? I miss my crows.

I sang in the cab today. Loud off-key singing that one only sings in showers because only bathroom tiles can be that accepting. My mom was mortified, I didn’t really care. I sang Nelly’s ‘Just A Dream’ to the cabby’s Laila Mourad – or some other chick – as a background. He didn’t really mind that much. I guess it gets really boring that you just take whatever the hell the people do for kicks, you know?

My maths teacher thought I was spaced out and asked me about a bit in the advanced function he kept on the side of the whiteboard for the psychological effect of it, for when everybody gets a little too out of hand and he just wants them to shut up and listen to him again. I got it right, that felt nice. Needless to say, he couldn’t shut them up afterwards. Fuck yeh.

Everything’s gonna be alright. It’ll be just fine.

Raspberry Yoghurt Ice Cream <3

I Slept.

I fell asleep, for sometime. And it felt nice for a change. I slept for a good 10 hours and my neck is aching to complement one of those headaches you get when you sleep too much and it feels like your brain is cramping up your forehead but I’m relishing the groggy pain. I didn’t dream, and thank god I didn’t. I think enough when I’m awake; I don’t wanna think when I’m asleep too. Brain activity my ass, I wanna die for a while.

Love is in the air and everybody’s having that same love high I once had before I realized - Tom & Jerry style - that I’m in the middle of the air 8 storeys high from the ground and then crashed headfirst into it. It’s making me sick, to be honest. I constantly feel the need to hug a pillow and turn into the outline of a comma in the bed sheets.

3ayza anzel marga3sh. And nobody would notice. And it will feel awesome. And I’ll be fine.