And I Said Maybe.

#177: There are many things that I’d like to say to you but I dunno how.

#178: Screw you.

Oh Man Is A Giddy Thing.

Time is weird. I had this comic as a kid, and in the Christmas issue there was this story about how Santa used to steal our time and give it to his worker elves so that they could use it to deliver the gifts to kids all over the world because it took such a long time to get it all down and then give it back to us during the rest of the year, which is why dentist appointments or business meetings always feel longer than they really are. I remember, even as a kid, thinking how cruel that must be. He could have easily gotten out of giving gifts by juggling bits and pieces of time to make happier phases last longer and painful ones seemingly shorter, and that’s when I hated Santa for being such a show off. If he cared about making people happy and being an actual philanthropist then he wouldn’t really care about his rep at our expense, no? And if that’s true, wouldn’t karma mind? After all, the happy memories tend to the wellbeing of one’s psyche and in turn make him work at a good karma more efficiently. Which leaves us with the dilemma that karma and Santa might not be on such good terms, and we’re the ones paying for it, twofold.

Fuck memories.

HA. haha. ha. ahahah. haha. ha.

Just because I’m hurting doesn’t mean I’m hurt, doesn’t mean I didn’t get what I deserved, no better or no worse.

Hah.

What pisses me off is that I never actually get it down. Stuff doesn’t go away, you just learn to live with it. Thing is, how many stuff am I gonna have to learn to live with before I’m old enough to forget everything I ever learned? What if that idea scares me enough to have me make sure I never grow that old? Even if it means..nevermind.

Queef

If dreams show the deepest wanting of your soul then I’m utterly fucked. I can’t believe I dreamt that. That’s bad. Aw shit.

Sick. Sick sick sick sick siiiiiiiick. SICK.

So aaaaaaaanywho.

I’ve had a good couple of days. Hung out with people, which was nice. It may be stupid but it’s the little outings on the weekend that make me go through the week partially sane.

I had Herring, white chocolate, eggs and cheese for breakfast, a root beer and 2 coffees. I don’t feel so good.

It took me 93 minutes to get out of bed.

Uh, later.

Oh You're Gonna Get It Right Some Time.

 

Are you missing something?
Looking for something?
Tired of everything
Searching and struggling
Are you worried about it?
Do you wanna talk about it?
Oh You're gonna get it right some time
Theres so much to be scared of
And not much to make sense of
Are you running in a circle?
You can't be too careful
And you can't relate it
'Cos it's complicated
Oh You're gonna get it right some time
You're gonna get it right some time
It's how you see the world
How many times can you see?
You can't believe what you learn
It's how you see the world
Don't you worry yourself
Your not gonna get hurt
Oooohhhhh...
Is there something missing?
There's nobody listening
Are you scared of what you don't know?
Don't wanna end up on your own?
You need conversation
And information
Ohhhhhhhhh...
Gonna get it right sometimes
You just wanna get it right sometimes
It's how you see the world
How many times have you heard?
You can't believe a word
It's how you see the world
Don't you worry yourself
'Cos nobody can learn
Oooooh
Oooooh
Ooooooooh
That's how you see the world
That's how you see the world

Don’t you just hate it when you make coffee, stuff it in the fridge so it’s cold and awesome by the time you wake up the next day only to find that somebody drank it?

It’s The Wrong Time.

I could easily conjure up a blog post about how, by this time next week, I could fail every major class I have because of my sleeping pattern and the fact that I’ve been in denial about two completely unrelated things. But I won’t.

I’ll blog about…Aw crap I’m going down aren’t I?

Well, that was a good try.

Not really.

Mori Volo.

Is That Alright With You, No?

Life Lesson #177: If I give my gun away when it’s loaded. Is that alright, yeah?

What Friends Would Do To Cheer You Up. <3

Life Lesson #176: Nobody gives a shit about

And that’s okay.

But Why Is The Rum Gone?

There’s a point of everybody’s life when it seems like if somebody had set out to irrevocably destroy you because you slaughtered their first born child with a blunt blade, they couldn’t have done it better than how you’re doing it to yourself at that particular time. Everything you’ve ever worked for has made a pact with divine providence and ended up suicide bombing you into a sky zit. It doesn’t necessarily have to make sense, and it may or may not be related to recent events. And before you know it, you realize that you’ve gone black swan on your own ass and it’s already too late to do anything about it but feel bad as it unfolds, slowly, one hour at a time. Then you wish and swear upon that uncertain entity in your head that has materialized through history and man’s tendency to prefer false hopes to having the engine running with nobody behind the steering wheel that if everything is alright again just this once, you’ll work your knuckles to the bone just to make sure it doesn’t happen again, because you deserve better. The whole corundum is that you don’t really know how you’re gonna feel now do you? You’re just bribing that vital force into going your way just this once so that you can contribute to its resource, but how would the vital force know for sure if you’re following through? After all it’s your ass on the line and it’s right there, unscathed, watching with a huge bowl of popcorn and a can of soda. Why would it go out of your way when you’re stumbling on your own little two feet? One knows better than to hire contractors that can’t walk the talk.

So Throw Me Out The Window With Confetti In My Hair.

Life Lesson #172: Coco pops make me happy.

Life Lesson #173: Whoever said that people hardly hit midgets with glasses lied. It doesn’t feel nice when you get punched, so don’t punch people. Not everything that’s blue is nice. Or green for that matter. Or yellow..or red..or purple. Definitely not purple. It doesn’t feel the nice even when it’s white.

Life Lesson #174: Never tell a dude he punches like a girl. He'll make you wish you weren't one.

Life Lesson #175: Never try to work your way around a dark room thinking you're cool. Unless you wanna get back at your toes.

She Always Had That Little Drop Of Poison.

Well..A rat always knows when he’s in with weasels. Here you lose a little everyday.

Well I remember when  a million was a million, they all have ways to make you pay.

Of Bitches And Brit Ladies.

I had a good day today. Nothing too special about it really, having a good day was never about the fireworks. I got up early for no reason, not that early tho. Just early considering the fact that it was 7 or 8 hours into actually having a good night’s sleep for the first time in approximately three days. I talked to a friend of mine about something that’s been bugging me for a couple of days and she recommended, or rather prescribed, that I buy “Why men love bitches”. Even tho it had nothing to do with men, I believe I need that book more than my calculus and chemistry books put together. I decided that I’m taking the day for myself, so I called Arabic class off. Yes I actually did that. I want time off then screw it all. I went on my usual morning walk, a habit that I grew into when the curfew started to test my sanity – I have to say that the bouts of sporadic dancing have added to my limited supply of funky moves. The weather was pretty bad tho, so there was the issue of getting past my hypochondriac of a mother, workaholic of a father and into the sandstorm. Thanks to the fact that I’m as stubborn as a mule with a need for attitude adjustment, I got my way. I went on a walk, didn’t get lost as much as I usually did, or harassed – at one point I wanted to blog about the lack of libido that seems to have hit in post-revolution era but then again you don’t wanna point it out if you want it to stay, eh?

I may come off snobby but I absolutely love where I live. There’s a place to jog, there’s a little coffee shop opening up close by and I have two bookstores within a kilometre’s radius. If you go out for a walk early enough you’ll be joined by people walking their dogs or people in suits jumping in and out of cars with their suitcases and sometimes coffees. Nobody gives a fuck what you’re doing as long as you’re out of their way, which is more than a person could ask for if you’re used to the eastern cast.

Anywho, I got there, found three books that I liked and two that I intended to Google. I wanted to get a friend of mine a book that he wanted for his birthday, but apparently it was banned by censorship and only available in French, and even that was out of stock. It’s outrageous that they’d ban a book for its plot rather than content. Fuck the regulations, the government is not my mom. Hell, even my mom doesn’t do that. I either have awesome parents or the government is fucked. Or both. It’s a Paulo Coelho book for god’s sake, not hardcore porn! There was the option of ordering or getting it online or abroad but the dudette had suggested that I try the dungeons and alleys of Shorouk bookstore – which I found impressive as she went out of her way as to recommend a rival bookstore. Sweet lady, she had me regress to my brit accent for funsies. Oh the guilty pleasure. She didn’t notice, haha. A couple of summers ago I was an ID card away from getting a summer job there. I’m totally going for it this summer, I’m also totally messing with people’s head. I could be Scottish with a customer and Indian with the next. Mwahahaha. I’m evil. I gotta work on the latter tho. I wonder if they have any policies about hitting on customers..hmm.

I later called the friend to tell him about the book dilemma. I’d already told him that I got it so he wouldn’t have a choice so the whole thing with me explaining the strategy and all was a tad embarrassing. He was sleeping so I doubt he’ll remember anything about the phone call. God I’m evil. Spent the evening teaching mom how to handle my phone and drinking really sucky tea because I wanted to see if the headache would go away if I didn’t drink coffee. It eventually did but I’m sleepy as hell. Right now I’ve got Maths to work on and a headache to ignore. Toodles cyber patch.

Of Blue, Purple And Green.

Life Lesson #171: You shouldn’t stay mad at people, because people die.

Just To Get High.

What have I done. What the hell have I done.

انا مصريه يا كلاب

There’s nothing like a paradigm shift. I’ve never been patriotic, I’ve always had to have a reason to like something, and I frankly never found anything worth liking about life over here, before 11th of Feb that is. That’s when it hit me that maybe, just maybe, that change they were talking about is actually doable, and they’re not a bunch of catharsis-deficient anarchists who nothing else to do with their lives. This is the first time of my life that I have hope fel baladi. The fact that this happened, however it turns out, is just a breath of fresh air. I’ve never been so damn proud. I take back everything I ever said about cold war and passive resistance.

I was wrong.

I’ve never been so fucking proud.

Of Epilogues And Sizzling Cocoa Mugs.

Gah it’s all been hectic. I’m starting the wrap my head around the fact that the stupid simulation finals are too close to actually study for and that they’ll coincide with the stupid droos exams so we’ll be examined at each subject twice. As if that’s not bad enough, they’ll be at the same time too.

Yesterday my maths teacher FB messaged an emergency class – and yes I’m actually serious – next morning. I had to pull an all-nighter studying and doing that maths assignment because I had 6 hours left till I have to drop my friend off at the airport leaving my msn on so that every time I went idle my friend could nudge me awake. She’d immigrated last year and wasn’t coping that well so she thought maybe it would be cool to fly in for a couple of weeks. There’s something a little unnerving about making sure a 19 year old is gonna make it through 19 hours at some airport in Paris unescorted. Fucking airport policies. No emergency visas unless it’s 24+ hrs? My ass. Hato3od te3mel eh, te3ed el karasi? We got that handled. Grown-ups do get handy sometimes.

I forgot to get tissues so I was determined not to need any. We almost ran a guy in a fluorescent vest over trying to find a parking spot since we had the ticket – which is ironically what helped us find the car afterwards since we couldn’t remember where we left it and the guy was still confused by the time we got back – ventured through a queer looking tent full of Asians till we identified two figures coming from a distance. She got in with her boyfriend then we waited for a friend who worked there to make sure she gets it all right because our dads were a little jittery about the couple of turns after the gate that we’re not allowed in. After a muffle of paper – ridiculous online booking – and stuffing more things in the pathetic gaps of the poor bags. Then came the farewell bit.

There’s a certain hilarity between the repulsion that exists between dads and boyfriends. This time, it was expressed in a certain hugging contest. I’m willing to bet an arm and a leg that my dad beat him to it on purpose. Dads.. Then came the acting all tough with a stiff upper lip after she leaves part. It was heart-warming seeing my dad’s upper lip twitch and his eyes bloat a little while her boyfriend kept shifting like he had a butt infection. Then came the “If you need anything” bit. My dad’s awesome. The amount of inside jokes passing back and forth between her and I was immense that the trail was almost visible in the nose-chipping cold. It was all a big déjà vu. The friend who keeps telling everybody to stay calm when he’s the only one shitting his pants. The dadoscope moments when my dad anticipated the course of action of everything 3 seconds before they take place. The competition. The couple of seconds before the hugs where everybody’s standing, time stops and you have absolutely no idea what the hell you’re doing there because the rush of that same realization is paralyzing. The double checking, triple checking and extra check to make sure everything’s in place and she has everything she needs but nothing she wants. The lashing comments on the incompetency of everything other than the ones they’ve picked and booked. The looking on as she walks through and away. And the wait at the car and frantic calls. Then the silence.

And then the Dad Quote.

The one that sums it all up in a way that makes perfect sense to him and no sense at all to anybody else.

The one’s that’s heard by the one person leaning against the car looking at him and none else. That moment that you remember 50 years from now with the look on your dad’s face and the chill that helped condense his ego right before it got too much to keep in an that obstinate eye-lid. One that you don’t tell anybody and keep selfishly for yourself.

Then I got home and I made us two huge mugs of concentrated hot cocoa – that liquid okay-ness which portion is proportional to the incident’s impact – and before you know it, everything’s alright again.

Shove A Gerbil In Your Ass Through A Tube.

Everybody’s talking about it. That’s all they talk about, everyday, same shit. I was thinking of posting my curfew diary  but then again it’s too personal and has me panicking all over the place in large dosses that are bound to send my social life into a flaming asteroid that everybody’s pathetic enough to wish upon.

So let’s talk about Gerbils. Or Coco Pops.

Bytar2a3o. Pop pop pop.

“Shove a gerbil in your ass through a tube, shove a gerbil in your ass through a tube, shove a gerbil in your ass through a tube. Ew ew ew ewwwwwwww.”

So, I’m Still Alive And Stuff..

I will not talk about it, no.

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?