May 7, 2009
I'm sleep-typing. Like other people sleep-walk. And others sleep-talk. And some (poor buggers) snore. I sleep-type. Not that I don't snore. I think I do. I refused to believe it until N taped me and played me snoring to me. I think that may have been why N and I broke up. Or it may have been something to do with all-the-other-really-important-things-I-don't-remember. Or it may have been the snoring thing. It's rude to tape other people snoring. I want sheesha, but I don't have the energy to get up and make it. I wish I had a slave-boy. Who ran around fetching and carrying and doing my dishes (oh, I have too many dishes) and the laundry (fuck-so-many-goddamn-dirty-clothes). I suppose it's not politically correct to say the 'S' word, but I say fuck that. I want a slave boy. And a slave boy I shall have. In my next life. In this one, all I have is the bloody-thesis. And the bloody-thesis is ruining my life. So is the slow seeping in that I'm leaving NYC. And I.House. To go back home to home-that-will-never-feel-like-home-again. *bugger* It's such a English word, bugger. I once thought I was in love with an English man. Turns out I probably fell for the accent. Mr. England was smooth talker, but not much else. All bark and no bite. I like bites. There's a bunch of rabid mosquitos in my room that keep attacking my neck. I keep telling people to call pest control, but nobody believes me. I don't know why. I never lie. Or I always lie. It's either one of the two. Believe what you will. I don't think I really care. About you, about me, about anything. All I care about is sleep. And chapter four and five of bloody thesis. Bloody, bloody thesis. You seemed like such a good idea in the beginning. But like all the other good-fucking-ideas in my life you turned out to be crap. In that respect bloody-thesis, you're just like all my other ex-bfs. When will I get lucky? And no, boid, I'm not wondering when I'll get laid. Because I'm going to be depressingly 'good' for my entire life. Goodness is idiotic. You know what's even more idiotic? Deceptive badness. So as it turns out, I'm too 'bad' for the 'good' guys, and too 'good' for the bad guys. Who would have thunk it? But such, my friend is the nature of life. Nobody wants what they can have. Least of all me. Sometimes I think I only want what I can't have. What is transient, and pointless and generally unavailable. Except it suddenly becomes available.But still remains transient and pointless. I bought a new shampoo today. It spells fabulous. Fabulous, fabulous, fabulous. I want to move to Mumbai. Except I don't. Somebody should explain this to me someday. Actually somebody should explain 'life' to me someday. Then maybe I wouldn't run around being so fucking clueless. M, just walked in on someone we know having sex with someone else we know. I think she shouldn't walk into just any open door she sees. It's not a sensible thing to do. You never know what's waiting for you on the other side. And trust me, sometimes what's on the other side is really painful. I'm still waiting for my slave boy with the sheesha. I don't know why I have to wait so long. It's really difficult to get good slave boys these days. But then I'm sleep-typing. What would I know?