BANG or BREAK

One thing I would really want to do right now: BANG MY HEAD AGAINST THE WALL.


Not in a very emo-ish type of way.


It just feels right.


I feel like my bones are breaking inside and I know exactly why I feel that way. But since I'm very stubborn, I just sit still and listen to my bones break -- listening to every crack. I feel like there some big, ominous, unwavering forcefield around my brain blocking every single sane, rational, logical thought. And I desperately feel the need to take that forcefield down that banging my head against concrete wall sounds, well, a pretty good idea.


It's not that I feel stupid. It's just that I feel both the need to stop feeling and the lack of urge to to actually act on my urges all at the same time.


So even if I believe that banging my head against the wall is something that I should be doing right now, I'm not hearing any thuds. I'm just hearing the same cracking noise from my bones.


No. I'm not depressed, nor am I sad or hurting or lonely. It's just amusingly painless when it should really be excruciating. And what's even more interesting is that I'm starting to like the sound of my bones cracking. But then again, I like having my bones whole and unfractured, hence the urge to make thudding sounds with my head against concrete.


Hah! So I really have to choose soon, bang my head against the wall or hear my bones break until there's nothing left to break. Hmmm...

ON PAPER TOWELS AND PEOPLE WHO KEEP SPILLING THE MILK

There's no point crying over spilled milk. You get a paper towel and wipe it off.


Yeah.
Right.
Sure.
Ok.
Fine.
Hah.


Im one of the laziest people on earth -- no, that would be an understatement -- i am a sloth. Wiping and cleaning are not on my list of fun (and necessary) things to do. But I am patient, not very patient but patient enough to put together as much paper towels as physically possible and get down on all fours to wipe off other clumsy (sometimes stupid) people's mess.



Someone spills the milk. Wipe. Wipe. Wipe. Wipe. Wipe.

Sister spills the milk. Wipe. Wipe. Whine. Wipe. Wipe. Whine. Whipe.

Brother spills the milk. Wipe. Wipe. Wipe. Whine. Whine. Wipe.....Wipe.

Mother spills the milk. Wipe. Wipe. Wipe. Wipe. Wipe. Whine. Whine. Wipe.

Father spills the milk. Whine. Whine. Whine. Wipe. Whine.....Whine. Wipe.

Friend spills the milk. Wipe. Wipe. Wipe. Whine. Whine. Whine......Whine.



But people can only spill so much milk. And I run out of paper towels too.



See, I don't even like milk that much. Clearly, I hate cleaning. But the stain of spilled milk on my otherwise perfectly spotless marble floor is like a scorned, nagging bitch haunting me to sleep. And that is not a very appealing way to spend my very very precious time alloted to turning off the reality of back-stabbing friends, a non-existent lovelife, a "floating" career and well, an absolutely moneyless christmas.



Testing my patience on wiping and cleaning seems to be the fad. And people seem to think I never run out of milk -- or paper towels. Apparently, they sometimes even think that they can deny spilling the milk.

(Yeah sure. The milk magically jumped out of the fridge and spilled itself all over the damned floor. How stupid am I to think otherwise. Im sorry. I was very judgemental. To make it up to you, I will clean up the mess. Stupid milk. Stupid, stupid, idiotic, moronic, stupid milk.)



I am patient but I am not that patient. I am trying... very very very very hard to fight the urge to shove my now filthy paper towels down their stinking, rotten throats. It really takes a hell lot of effort to restrain myself from becoming a serial throat stuffer. Shackles are welcome any day.



When milk gets spilled:

a) wipe it off with a paper towel and hope and pray to all the gods that they would actually find it in their selves to replace it.

b) buy a new carton of milk, duh.

c) leave it there to curdle, to hell with the damned floor and go get a bottle of ice cold beer.


I go for C.