The Rain God Is A Sadistic Bastard

Look, buddy.

You want to rain down on me? Go right ahead. You want to fucking drench me, then you bloody well do it. I enjoy that shit.

But if you stop halfway and say, "Thanks, I'm done," one more time, I will break my foot off up in your ass.

Fun Week

Headache, check.

Nose blocked so bad you could barely breathe, keeping you up ALL of last night, check.

Said blocked nose deciding to run like a leaky tap this morning, check.

One snot-soaked handkerchief, check.

Cumulative lack of sleep over the past four days, check.

To-do list descending into the seventh circle of Hell, check.

Boy, it's going to be creamy buckets of awesomeness this week, isn't it?

I Need To Take A Hint

Dad: Will you be joining us for dinner?
Me: Depends. What’s for dinner?
Dad: Oh, just some brinjal sabji your Mom has made.
Me: Oh, then I’m definitely not coming home for dinner. I’ll eat and come.
Dad: Are you sure?
Me: Yeah.

 

I didn’t go home for dinner. Ate some grub somewhere. Dad was already asleep when I did get home.

I just opened the fridge looking for something to munch on. Tonight’s main course was crab.

Love = Time.

If you don’t have one, you can’t have the other.

 

I guess majority opinions do win.

The Old Man, His Bed Partner & Their Third Wheel

Retrospect, that old, sadistic geezer, hooked up with long time beau Wisdom, and together with their partner in crime and mockery, Lady Luck, decided to whip up a potent little batch of something to blow my eyes and my mind open. If I get the time in the next few days, I'll explain.


Talk about making a felicitous start to the year.

Sweet Oblivion, Here I Come.

Trust work to help me out in this regard.

This is going to be hellmonth. More hellmonth than the one I've mentioned before. Gah. Life is going to get even more difficult, I can see it coming.

Let The Games Begin

Ah, Fate. my fickle, fickle friend. You played your games with me before, and everything always seemed so right. I thought I was one of the favoured few. I even went so far as to quote to people that you were on my side. That you played alongside me without my knowledge. That it was you, not me or any effort on my part, that conspired to make my life the way it is now.

But apparently, you like me not as much as you would have me believe. You now conspire directly in my opposition. Is this Lent? Would you have me weather the storm? Okay, then.

Game on, bitch.

I'm Having A Bad Day.

Taking a leaf from OneSentence.org. I think my blog's becoming inspiration driven.

The only thing I could remember thinking as I felt each bump when the bus I was in ran him over along with his motorcycle was, "What are the chances someone in a one mile radius knows his name?"

Human beings are not worthy of judging one another. That task must be left to someone with higher morals, higher intelligence, someone with a better concept of measurement and metrics. To put it really simply, someone with a better weighing scale.

Hello!

Welcome, season of horny bullfrogs, gumboots and folded-up jeans. Of drip-drip and wet socks, of squelch-squelch and chai. Of pakodas and closely-huddled-for-warmth-lovers, of Marine Drive walks and wind-blown umbrellas. Of filmy dance sequences and sodden-drenched children, of tandoori chicken and screaming mothers.

Of steaming soup-bowls and makeshift rafts, of flying ants that love the lights. Of switched-off ACs and curled-up book lovers, of damp walls and never-drying clothes. Of talks of new paint jobs, of children's faces turned upwards as one; welcome, O Season of Seasons.

Oh! the smell of new books... Like they're inviting you into the world hidden in their pages... God, make me a printer, please...

Why Me???

I'm sorry. I'm back to this. And this isn't the happy 'why me'. It's the icky one. Really. Why????

Why can't people see what's so obvious? Why must we make assumptions where they aren't necessary??? Why can't a literary work just be taken to mean what it frikkin' says????

WHY????? WHY??????????????????????????????


Can I smash in my keyboard? Here I was thinking it'd be a nice gesture and shit, but no!!! You have to ruin it for me. Why? We really need to get around this love-hate thing.

Standing Ovation

Wow. No, really. Wow. If I could show myself standing and clapping here, I would. You honestly amaze me sometimes. This makes up for all the times I've asked you, "Why me?" Heck, this is probably why.

Thank you. You've given me more than I ever dreamed I would have. Ever. Whenever I find myself thinking I deserve this, you just have to bring around this new piece that makes me go, "Shit."

Seriously, though. What on good God's Earth did I ever do to deserve such bounty? I'm not complaining, mind you. I'm just curious. 'Cos I'd do it again a million times over, in a heartbeat, if you'll give me her again next time around.

Gyaaaaarh!!!!

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Decode THAT, bitches!

Football

Can someone, please, in very simple terms, explain to me the excitement caused by hearing some British dude go, "Yeah Shebby, I think in the next 90 minutes, we're going to see two goals."

Whose Goddamn idea was pre-match analysis anyway?

Why me, God???

WHY???????

Disorder

I think it's a disorder. It might be. I hate it. I wish I didn't have it. I only have two questions of you, God.

1. Why didn't you soundproof the mouth if you knew food was going to be in it? I mean, really! It crunches in there!

2. Why, in good God's name, would anyone want to chew with their mouth open? What purpose does it serve? Does it air out the food?

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrggggghhhhhh!!!!!!!

wants

i want to write

i want to play maria

i want to fly a kite

i want to roll in mud

i want to climb a tree

i want to scrape myself falling down

and dust myself getting up

i want to fly

i want to soar

i want to dive

i want to dig a hole

to bury my past

i want to sleep

i want to wake up in the next millenium

i want to live forever

i want to die

i want to go suck my thumb

i want to bite my toenails

i want to lie on grass

and play games with a centipede

i want to clean my cupboard

i want to read a book

i want to draw

i want to fire a gun

i want to be a spy

i want to fly

It is amazing how the phrase 'I hate you' can mean so many different things.

Yesterday it meant "You're so cute, but I wish you'd stop doing that. Not really, though, because it makes me feel good."

Today it's "Why do you have to do that? I keep telling you to stop. You should have listened to me before. It's too late now."

Directions, please...

Well, well. Where am I headed? Do I really want to go there?

I've been going there often. Quite often. Practically everyday. But I've never been this far in. I mean, really. There are limits. I really should take up acting as a career.

The Day of Reckoning will come. Then we shall see. Who knows, maybe the view from the gutter might just be nice...