Posts Tagged ‘demon’

The Moth.

March 20, 2011

I know, dramatic title, right? You’re already interested.

Earlier this evening, one of the most traumatising experiences of my life went down in my living room.

I was minding my own business in the kitchen, preparing delicious food that would wind up in my belly in the very near future. Suddenly, I heard Jerome doing that weird chattering sound that cats make when they see prey. I ignored it. Within a few moments, I heard Leona and Bart joining in. I was now sure that ignoring the problem wouldn’t make it go away. So I went to investigate.

Expecting nothing out of the ordinary, I just casually entered my living room, only to find a fucking moth the size of my hand fleeting about the living room. It was angry, it was loud, and I’m pretty sure it was on a quest for blood. So, being the brave girl that I am, I screamed and ran back into the kitchen.

I immediately regretted that decision. You see, I watch NatGeo and Animal Planet and shit. I know quite a lot about animals, including useless random facts that won’t help me in situations like the one I was currently facing. I also know that buggy things in general, are attracted to light. And the living room was darkish. The kitchen, however, was relatively brighter (and smelled delicious). I therefore had only a few moments before the insectosaurus would respond to this difference in the light gradient and come find me, attack me, and kill me for food.

So, realising my mistake, I cowered under the safety of the kitchen table. Surely the demon bird/bat/moth couldn’t get me there. Now I had time to think about my options. First I thought I’d look for some heavy-duty roach-killer spray, and just douse the entire ground floor of my house in it. But then I thought about the cats and the tasty food I was preparing, so I immediately discarded that option. Then I thought I’d just grab a shoe or a rolled-up newspaper or a magazine or something, and swat it. But then I reconsidered the size of the monster, and I didn’t want to hear the splat and clean up a bucket-full of guts. So again, I disregarded that option. Finally, I thought back to my animal programmes and I was all, “WWDAD? What would David Attenborough do?” Surely he wouldn’t kill the beast, rather, he’d find a way to safely remove it from his immediate surroundings.

Very good. Now I had to come up with a plan. I grabbed a pot and fashioned a helmet. I also grabbed a spatula, in case I would be faced with one-on-one combat. I then turned on extra lights in the kitchen to ensure maximum brightness and crawled out into the unknown.

I made it to the hallway.

Lights off.

Continued crawling,

ever alert,

ever vigilant,

ever cautious.

I made it behind enemy lines. The living room. The angry mutant was buzzing around the ceiling, creating sounds louder than a fighter plane. In real life it was probably closer to the sound of an electric pencil sharpener, but my heightened senses may have warped my perception of hearing. Anyway, I was still slowly and silently stalking my prey, and finally managed to sneak by unnoticed, to the other side of the living room. Once there, I nimbly reached up with my spatula, and switched off the lights. The entire ground floor was now dark, with the exception of the kitchen.

In retrospect, I should have turned off all the lights in the kitchen and done it the other way around, but I tend to think irrationally when my adrenaline levels get high, so… yeah. Just ignore that, okay?

I swiftly army-crawled my way back to the kitchen, to prepare for stage two of the ambush.

My plan was brilliant and cunning. I would wait for the massive birdbug in the corner near the dishwasher. Once it approached the bright kitchen and started attacking the lights, I would leap up with my spatula and tease it into a trap-like contraption that I built out of tupperware, tape, and kitchen utensils. Once captured, I would free the demon outside, unharmed, and far away from my house. Such a perfect plan! All I had to do was wait.

So I waited.

And waited.

And… waited.

Slightly annoyed at the possibility of not being able to use my tupperware trap, I stood up to look for it.


What? It just flew into my pot-helmet! It was actually initiating an epic battle, which proceeded right then and there in the kitchen. Mind you, I didn’t want moth-guts in my food though, so I had to be smart. Spatula in one hand, swatting frantically, I eventually managed to (and I kid you not) hit the thing into the trap, causing it to fall shut. It was exactly like a Tom & Jerry cartoon. And I won.

Pleased at my victory, I went to examine my catch. It was hairy, large, and hideous. But then, an amazing thing happened. It spread its wings, as if to curtsy and acknowledge the excellent fight we just had, and underneath the gruesomeness, the moth was stunningly beautiful! It was only then that I even remembered how closely related butterflies and moths are (one main difference being, of course, that butterflies flap their wings gracefully and quietly, not like a fucking jackhammer). Nevertheless, I felt a pang of guilt for ever being so frightened of this surprisingly peaceful and gorgeous creature.

Careful not to damage anything, I slowly carried the contraption to the terrace, where I released my captive. I was slightly sad by this point to see it go, but I wiped away the single tear that slid down the side of my face and swallowed my cry. “Goodbye, young warrior,” I whispered into the night.

Retreating back into my house, reminiscing on the events that just occured, I realised something.

Never battle a giant moth when you have food on the stove because chances are, it’ll burn.


Top 3 creatures

November 19, 2010

During my short time thus far in South Africa, I have already encountered several strange phenomena. For example, the weather fluctuation on an hourly basis is even more fickle than my five personalities. One moment the weather would be cold and rainy, the next moment would be doused in sunshine, and later yet, you could experience scattered clouds and strong ass winds. It takes some getting used to.

But even more interesting than the weather changes are the strange creatures that live in this place. The following is my Top 3 list of wildlife that are abundantly found in the back yard.

  1. The “Shongololo.” I kid you not. That’s what it’s called. But you might be more familiar with the term “millipede.” I was actually lecturing Adam about how poisonous they are and he claimed they were harmless. Of course when I just researched it, I was wrong and he was totes right. Sort of. One of their defense mechanisms is to emit this poisonous chemical thing that can kill ants and whatnot, but for humans it’ll only cause mild skin discomfort. Bottom line: You can’t die from them. And some people even keep them as pets! Another defense mechanism is curling up into a tight coil so that their little exoskeletons protect their mushy undersides. I’ve stepped on a couple though, and it doesn’t really help.
  2. The Hadida bird. This demon bird is the most obnoxious, evil fucking thing. It’s huge (like, knee height) and just squawks all day. Even at night you can hear them in the trees. They’re devil birds, I tell you. And today I was practicing my Hadida mating call (because I want it to be my new distress signal) and one of them actually landed in the yard and started eyeing me. It was creepy.
  3. The random little black snake that might not have a name. It was a dark night. So we couldn’t really identify the particular species or whatever, but Adam’s mom came screaming into the house that there was a snake in the yard. We went to investigate (and Adam had to toss it over the wall), and it was this tiny little black snake, which to me looked like any other garden snake. But they were convinced that it was evil and poisonous, so I wasn’t allowed to keep it as a pet.

Yeah so those are the winners for this post. There’s many more critters and stuff, but they didn’t make the top three. I saw a sign today that said “Attention: Animal Crossing” but I couldn’t identify the animal in the picture.

Adam said it was some sort of buck. It looked more like a mutated moose/deer/gazelle, but I didn’t say anything.

Why yawning is contagious (an in-depth study)

November 15, 2010

Okay so I was kidding about the “in-depth study” part. But I did do a little bit of research into the matter, because the phenomenon of a yawn spreading from one person to another has always fascinated me. Regardless of how much Red Bull I drank that day, if you yawn in front of me, I’ll yawn back. But why?

One study (from Discovery News, so you know it’s legit) suggests that yawning when others yawn is “a sign of empathy and a form of social bonding.” Seriously? Yawns are contagious because of some primitive brain-stem function that dates back to our creation? We yawn back because our subconscious wants to feel accepted? Definitely false. Sorry, Discovery News.

Another article (from BBC News, so again legit) describes a yawn as being a process designed to cool down the brain and help one stay awake. Therefore, the reason why we yawn when we see others yawn is because “we are participating in an ancient, hardwired ritual that evolved to help groups stay alert and detect danger.” So let me get this straight. A guard is keeping watch, to protect the inhabitants of a camp site from getting attacked by wild boars. This guard stays awake all night. At around four in the morning, he starts feeling sleepy, so to “cool his brain down,” he yawns. A camper in the tent hears this yawn and also starts yawning. The person in the tent with him also yawns. Before you know it, everyone in the camp is just yawning at each other. So now they’re all awake and alert and can fight the rabid, hungry, wild boars? Something is missing in this story.

Further research only led me to dead-ends. One site claimed that contagious yawning was purely psychological, another suggested that it had something to do with neurons (I didn’t really read that one, it was boring), and yet another stated a bunch of statistics, but never really got to a resolved reason as to why.

So naturally, I came up with my own theory: demon communication. No wait, just hear it out, okay? We all have our little inner demons, right? And we all keep shit bottled up and blah blah, and all this negative bad stuff is usually pushed back into the subconscious, right? And our subconscious usually becomes active while we sleep. And we yawn to stay awake, as in, we’re tired and we’re probs about to go to sleep, right? Still with me? Therefore, when we yawn, we let some of those demons from our tired subconscious escape. And when other people see us yawn, their demons also want to come out. Hence, contagious yawning.

And that also explains why there’s evil demons floating around my house. Particularly in my closet. Bart and I yawn a lot.

The good, the bad, and the WTF is wrong with me?!

November 12, 2010

For those of you who are loyal readers, you already know that I have severely fucked up, twisted, and vivid dreams. The content of said dreams are typically reserved for the minds of the criminally insane, the drug overdosers, and the brain damaged (due to a cigarette-smoking birth defect). Sadly Fortunately, I don’t fit under any of these aforementioned categories. Yet still I have the weirdest dreams.

Last night’s dream was particularly long and detailed, so I’ll spare you the intricacies and instead just outline a few key points that I think were particularly interesting, both in the bad sense (i.e. “Oh my God, please don’t ever let that happen or exist in real life! Lock up your brain, you sick freak!”) and the totally awesome sense (i.e. “Aww, why can’t that be real? I’m jealous of you that you got to experience that and I never will.”).

Talking fish that can morph into humans. This one’s pretty self explanatory. Basically I had a fridge. And you know those little drawers at the bottom that are meant to keep vegetables fresh? Sorry, side-note: How is that supposed to work? What’s so special about the bottom of the fridge that keeps my fruits and veggies fresher than on a normal shelf? I don’t like banishing them to a drawer, because it makes them sad, which in turn makes me sad. Not cool. Anyway, back to my dream. So in those freshness drawers I had about forty live, swimming little fishies. And they were all pretty, as far as fish go. Like, not just ordinary like goldfish, rather, exotic-looking and flamboyant, with vibrant colours. And they could talk.

At one point I took a little tupperware-full of like, three or four, and when I got to the train station and opened up the little plastic container, they morphed into really good-looking females of the human species. Except one of them had a damaged fin, so her arm turned out to be in a cast, but whatevs.

Evil demon Chewbacca/bear/cat. This was almost traumatising enough to wake me up, but not quite. Basically, I was visiting some random dream-person in the hospital, and the evil demon Chewbacca/bear/cat jumped out from under the bed and started growling at me for no reason. None whatsoever! I didn’t taunt it. I didn’t step on its tail. I didn’t insult it. I wasn’t looking for a fight or anything. I was just minding my own business, visiting a sick person, and then I got growled at. But not just a normal growl. It was exactly as I said: a combination of Chewbacca’s weird-ass voice, a mother bear’s deafening roar when she’s defending her cubs, and Tommy’s low cat-growl when he fights other cats in the neighbourhood. It was so very frightening.

And then I must have made a sudden movement, or maybe the demon sensed my fear or something, because it proceeded to attack me and clamp onto my arm and not let go.

It was one of the worst experiences of my dream life, even worse than that time I was delivering pizzas to a creepy alien guy.

Awesome elevators that transport you in all directions at nearly warp speed. We were on our way to this party in a huge warehouse, and when we got to the elevator, I was expecting it to be normal, like every other elevator I’ve ever been on. As in, it only goes in two directions – up and down. But this elevator also went left and right, and it did a loopty-loop at one point! I didn’t really understand the physics behind it, because I didn’t feel the effects of g-force, but it was cool nonetheless. And, it took me to my desired level, which is all that really mattered.

Getting into a fight with a car-wash ghost because he confiscated your car and motorcycle. Different party, same warehouse setting. So I drove into the parking garage. I drive a Ford Edge in real life. It’s a little bulky, and is difficult to handle at slow speeds, but it’s cool. In my dream, I was driving the same car, maneuvering it around all kinds of twists and turns and corners. You know how parking garages can be. Anyway, I was informed that this garage used to be a car wash back in the day, but they tore it down and rebuilt it into thousands of parking spaces instead. I found what appeared to be a completely legal parking space (near the “elevator”) and got out of the car.

Then, a car wash ghost floated over to me and started talking about how I can’t park there because I’d be blocking other customers who want to come and have their cars cleaned. I tried explaining to the ghost that he was dead and this was no longer a car wash, but he was in denial and a physical fight ensued. A few minutes into the most useless fight in the history of violence (because no punch was ever landed, they just kind of passed through us), I decided to be the bigger person and just walk away.

Upon doing so, I noticed that my car was gone! Ghost guy laughed and said that he confiscated it due to the illegality of my parking. This made me very irate. But I was late for the party, so I let it go, and went upstairs.

Fast-forward to a few hours later, when I left the party. I got back down to the garage and asked ghost guy what he did with my car. He said he took it down the road to the Ford service centre, which was about two kilometers away. I definitely did not feel like walking that far. Luckily, I had my spare motorcycle parked one level above. So I went and got it, but I fucked something up and the clutch started smoking and then kind of just exploded off. I was sad.

I went back to ghost guy and asked if he could fix it, but he said he didn’t know how to. So I figured I’d walk the bike to Ford, pick up my car, and leave the bike there, for Ford to maybe fix in the morning. But when I went back to my bike, it too was gone! Why does this keep happening to me?! My blood boiled with anger. In a forced-calm voice I asked the ghost what he did with it and he said he sent it to Saudi Arabia.

Cake that tastes like weird non-cakey things. I was at the hospital again, celebrating the life of someone. There was cake. It didn’t taste like chocolate or vanilla or marble or strawberry or walnut or carrot or cheese. It tasted like chicken. Grilled chicken. There was another cake that tasted like mashed potatoes and peas. And another cake that tasted like barbecued spare ribs. And finally, a spaghetti-flavoured cake. Yes, they were all exact replicas of the original taste. But because of the cake-like consistency, I was slightly grossed out. However, to be polite, I had a small sliver of the ribs-cake.

And yeah, that’s pretty much it. I mean there was a lot more to it, but I’m not going to delve any further into my insanities. Bear in mind though, that all of the situations that I discussed above happened over the course of a single dream. So I don’t know if that means I need a brain transplant, or if it means that I’m actually a genius mastermind.

I’d like to think the latter.


October 31, 2010

Halloween is probably the most pointless “holiday” on the calendar. It celebrates nothing. No, really. Wikipedia it.

That having been said, it is still celebrated by a gajillion people worldwide. So, in honour of all the Halloweeners (Hollow-wieners? Hahaha I crack myself up), I’ve decided to write a pointless post to celebrate this pointless event. If you’re borderline blind (e.g. Ma) and have trouble reading the captions, a simple click on each image will enlarge it to full-screen.

We begin our tale at the youngest age possible. This stage refers to kids who just learned how to walk, and know enough vocabulary to say “trick-or-treat,” “candy please,” “yummy,” and “please don’t rape or poison me.” Parents dress their kids up in cute little costumes, amp them up with the promise of candy, and gallivant around neighbourhoods, collecting sugary treats.

As these adorable little munchkins grow up, they begin to phase out of the trick-or-treating stage. All of a sudden it’s “lame” to dress up. They’re “too cool” to go around with their little siblings and partake in this sacred family tradition. However, candy is still a motivator, so they roll their eyes and grudgingly force themselves to go door-to-door for a week’s worth of sugar-high.

The next stage is the coolest stage. This is when teenagers realise that Halloween isn’t about silly old candy, it’s about having a reason to throw a costume party! They typically dress up in elaborate costumes and go to someone’s house party. The host’s mom serves chilled non-alcoholic punch and orders large pizzas. Everyone then sits around in their awesome costumes, watching old-school horror films.

Once these teens reach college, their inner demons surface. For the girls, the demon takes the form of a slut-monster. And for the guys, the demon is a giant keg of beer. When these two genders attend a college Halloween party, there’s basically just a lot of drunken sex scenes, and depending on the costumes, it can get really weird. Fact: 90% of girls will be a slutty cat/nurse/devil/angel/witch/you name it, and 95% of guys won’t even bother dressing up. It’s science.

Now that they’ve graduated and have jobs, a new phase of Halloweening takes place. There’s still some dressing up, but because these people are now in their early thirties, the costumes are way less intricate. Usually, both the male and the female will “dress up” as a celebrity they remotely resemble. They then go hang out at the local bar for a couple hours before they have to rush back home to the screaming toddler.


The aforementioned toddler has now grown up, and our two main characters are proud, beaming, excited parents. No longer do they need to dress up, rather, it’s time to send the kids out trick-or-treating! Meanwhile, the parents sit at home and dish out candy. Oh, how the tables have turned.

Years later, the kids are out of the house and all that’s left is the nice elderly couple who lives down the street.

And that, my friends, is the end of our journey. I hope you all have a wonderful Halloween (regardless of which stage you’re in) and keep it safe!

Decapitating Elmo

March 16, 2010

I was at a water park slash playboy mansion and didn’t really know anyone there. Somehow though, I made friends with this one guy, and over the course of the dream I came to trust him. He had a friendly face and a soothing voice and was just an average guy. Or so I thought.

At one point, he took me aside and explained to me that he was actually the lead killer of a cult that kills Sesame Street characters, and Elmo was the last on their list. I dunno, apparently Elmo was the baddest mofo of the bunch. Who’d’ve thought? Anyway, Elmo was at the party somewhere, and it was our mission to find and destroy him.

My nameless friend then persuaded me to nearly sever my head off my shoulders, as an initiation ritual to prove that I was true to the cult. I don’t know why I trusted this guy and fell for his evil ploy, but I did. So I actually sat there and allowed him to slice the back of my neck about two centimeters deep, from ear to ear. It wasn’t as pleasant as it sounds.

So I’m lying there, nearly decapitated, while he goes over the plan: I go look for Elmo, buy him a drink (which I will obviously poison with the date rape drug), and bring his unconscious body back to my friend. Together, we will tie him up, wait for him to wake up, and then torture him into giving us information and eventually decapitate him. Decapitation is the signature killing style of my new cult, in case you didn’t get that yet.

Off I went, in search of Elmo. On my way, I encountered many drunken naked people, and I went on a few water slides as well. But my time was running out, because with each step I took, I got weaker and weaker. I was losing so much blood from my neck that it filled the entire hood of my hoodie. Gross. But I had to continue.

After a ride that somewhat resembled Jumeirah Sceira, I rounded a corner and found Elmo, with a heroin needle still in his arm. He was on the verge of unconsciousness. But when he saw me and my neck, he flipped the fuck out. “What has he done to you? Don’t listen to anything he says, it’s all a trick! Get away from me! Run while you still can! Goooo!” Elmo’s voice already creeps me out, but when he’s tripping balls on heroin, it’s even creepier. So I ignored him, and gave him some laced water, which immediately made him pass out. I then schlepped his body all the way back to the base where my friend was waiting.

“Well done, I’m proud of you,” he said to me with an evil half-grin and a killer look in his eye, “Now help me carry him upstairs.” I could no longer stand on my own two feet though. So my friend ended up carrying me on one shoulder and Elmo on the other.

Just as we were about to enter the backdoor of the house, this old red Jeep Grand Cherokee pulls up in the driveway at the front of the house, and the driver does a double take and then immediately slams on the brakes and jumps out of the car, running in our direction. “Fuck, they found us!” my friend said, and quickened his pace up the patio stairs, through the door, and into a closet, which he then locked and bolted.

The dude from the Jeep caught up to us not long after, and started pounding on the door. “Open up, I know you’re in there!” No shit dude, who else would be in a locked closet? Anyway, I asked my friend why this random douschebag was after us, and he informed me that the guy was the dad of one of the little girls he killed a few weeks ago. Apparently, my friend sent a huge bag of poisoned German candy to a fourth grade class, killing everyone who ate a piece (which was, in fact, everyone). And now the dad is rightfully pissed.

“Ron Ron! Open up the door, it’s me, your beautiful princess Ten Ten!” my sister was saying from the other side of the door. “Come on, just unlock it and come out, you won’t get in trouble. Neither will Elmo. Only the bad guy who’s in there with you. Trust me!”

“Don’t trust her, you fool. That’s not really your sister!” my friend was telling me from inside the closet. “It’s a trap! Don’t open the door!” But I felt so bad, and I didn’t want Ten to think I didn’t trust her, so I opened the door. And it was a trap. My sister wasn’t there, it was the douschebag Jeep-driving dad of the dead girl, toting a huge ass rifle. “It’s payback, bitch.” he said in his normal tough-guy voice. And then he cocked the gun and I woke up.

The unbearable shittiness of being.

February 8, 2009

I know that there are billions of sad little people in the world who are worse off than me. However, I’m at that stage of the year my life where I actually need to physically tell myself this. Aloud. To my reflection in the mirror. Let me explain:

I’m supposed to be enrolled in four classes this semester. When I was in the States, I was only able to enroll in two classes online, so when I came back, I had to manually enroll in the other two. This involves getting a piece of paper, filling it out, and getting it signed by some VIPs of my university, then going to the cashier and paying for my tuition, and presto! I will be enrolled. So I did all that, minus the whole paying thing, meaning I’m still not technically enrolled in those two classes. Midterms are coming up, and if I don’t get enrolled in the system, my marks won’t count. So no problem, all I have to do is pay and hand in that paper. But I can’t find it anywhere! I searched my house, I searched the car, I searched my friends’ cars, I searched all my bags, I searched everywhere! And it’s nowhere to be found. And the enrollment deadline has passed, so I can’t just redo the process. Which sucks. And makes me angry. WHERE IS THAT PAPER?!

Ma left yesterday to do an overseas consultancy for like a week. Don’t worry, that’s not the shitty part (just kidding Ma, *wink!* – (party at my house, people! woo!)). What makes my life literally a living hell anytime she travels is the fact that Feb becomes even more demonic than usual. Feb is one of our two cats. Tommy is nice and friendly and does normal cat-like things like eat and nap and purr. Feb, on the other hand, hates everyone, and her sole mission in life is to ruin the lives of others. Now, when my mom’s around, it’s bearable, because she actually likes my mom (kind of). But when Ma’s gone?! Fuuuuck. Yesterday, for example, I came home at night, locked the front gate and the main door, turned off all the lights, and went upstairs to get ready for bed. Halfway up the stairs, I come face-to-face with Dr. Evil, as her eyes glare at me in the dark. “Hey baby Feb, let’s go upstairs and do sleep-sleep!” I said very sweetly. She stares at me, takes a step down (closer to me), smells me for a split second, and then hisses like a devil-tiger and smacks me in the leg with her paw. “FINE!” I yelled at her and kicked her down the stairs a bit. She immediately recoils, and dashes past me up the dark stairs of doom, causing me to trip and nearly suffer fatal head injuries, and then darts into my room. “Uh, no. You’re not staying here. Get out. Go to Ma’s room and slit your wrists or something, but don’t crouch in the corner and stare at me as I sleep.” She ignored me, ostensibly, and paraded around my room, smelling all my stuff. So I left to brush my teeth and hang out with Ten for a bit. When I was ready to go to bed, I turned off the light and got nice and comfy. I set my alarm (on my new phone that actually works, yes!) and closed my eyes to prepare for the dream-realm. Suddenly my eyes pop open. I feel something walking around at the foot of my bed. Propping myself up on my elbows, and squinting in the dark, I can make out a cat-like creature. Oh, it’s just Tommy, I thought to myself. But then I remembered that Tommy was sleeping in Eri’s room that night, so my heart started racing as I realised what was actually happening – Feb was on my bed, probably rearing up for attack-mode. I tried to hide my fear and go to sleep, but she started kneading my blanket and making weird noises. So I turned on my side, hoping that if I just ignore her, she’ll let me live. Sadly this was not the case. She creeped up towards my face, smelling me and my bedsheets the entire time. When we were finally nose-to-nose, she licked my face (aww), and then hissed loudly, slapped me in the head, and bolted out of my room (boo). I hate her so much. And this is only the beginning.

For the past two days (this is day three), I’ve been having severe chest pain. And I can’t figure out what it is or what caused it. At first I thought that it was just heartburn. So I took some Tums, but that did nothing. I tried drinking milk, and again no relief. So I was like, whatever, it’s not heartburn. On day two, it intensified. And the pain is kinda constant, but it comes in waves of severity. To the point that I clutch my chest like a heartbroken woman who just lost her son in the war. And then it kinda goes away again. But it’s really strange. It feels as if I swallowed a tennis ball and it’s now stuck in my esophagus. Breathing hurts. Swallowing hurts. And I don’t know what to do about it. It’s a lot better today than yesterday, so hopefully I can just do what I usually do when I get weird symptoms, which is pretend that I never had them and hope they never return. We’ll see.

Eri had to drive me to school today. This is sort of a two-in-one problem. The first part of the problem is that I have a license and I can drive myself. However, insurance-wise, I’m not covered on my mom’s car until I get an Omani license. And getting an Omani license isn’t a simple snap of the fingers, because I’d need to start from scratch and do all the training and take a bajillion tests, none of which I have time for. Mind you, I’ve been driving illegally for like seven years, and never had an accident. But the ROP doesn’t seem to care. I have to do it like everyone else, unless I can find some serious wasta. Anyway, the second part of the problem of me not being allowed to drive my mom’s car is obviously the fact that Eri has to drive. Eri is Ma’s seventy-something-year-old mother, who has absolutely no sense of direction. And she freaks out quite easily. So we had to leave the house at 06:50, and take the easiest route possible, although it’s also the longest, and hang on for dear life anytime we approach a roundabout. Furthermore, there is little to no talking allowed once the vehicle is in motion, to enable Eri to concentrate to her fullest potential. Music is a definite no. So those forty-five minutes to Ten’s school are pretty hellish. To make matters worse, she doesn’t know how to get from Ten’s school to mine, so I had to show her the way. Twice. Which means, we left Ten’s school, drove to mine, made a U-turn, drove back to Ten’s school, made another U-Turn, and drove back to mine. And I had to draw her a map. Eri said she’d call me if she has any problems finding her way back (which is a simple five-minute route), and she hasn’t yet called me. So hopefully she’s on her way home and not actually in Jordan with no phone signal or something.

I just realised that I’ve been complaining for the past thousand words or so, and although I could continue for another five thousand, I’d rather not. I’ll just list a few more points:

  • Normal doses of caffeine no longer have an effect on me, so I’ve become a coffeeholic, even though I can’t really afford to be one.
  • I have four hours of accounting today and want to shoot myself in the face.
  • I don’t have time to go to the beach as often as I want to.
  • My favourite shirt seems to have gone missing.
  • I cooked a chicken soup for Omar yesterday because he’s sick, but now my hands smell like garlic, regardless of how much I wash them.
  • Ma took my Ten’s gold eyeliner with her, and I look ugly without it.
  • I despise malls with a creepishly strong passion, yet I must go to one today with Eri, of all people, to help her get a new phone because she feels the need to copy everything I do.
  • Did I mention I have four hours of accounting today?!
  • I have a craving for something, but I can’t figure out what it is, and it’s very nerve wracking. 
  • The same song has been stuck in my head for the past five days and it’s starting to nauseate me.

And that’s not all, but that’s all I feel like typing for now. So I think the time has come to order another coffee and go to the bathroom and talk to the registrar about my enrollment situation before class, which is in less than an hour. But I thought I’d give you a tiny little taste of the unbearable shittiness of my being so you can sympathise with me. Pity me! Just kidding, don’t. Or do. Your call. Either way, I’m still going to be in a grumpy mood the whole day.

Haha, a bird just flew into the window of Fiesta. I guess it’ll be a good day after all. 

: )

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