Pure Procrastination

Sometimes life conspires to take away your mental state of inhumane hyperactivity, thus leaving you feeling somewhat fruitless for a while. This reminds me of a pear that I ought to munch before it's youthful state deteriorates into vegetation instead of fruit. Talking about fruit, let me tell you that there's nothing more enjoyable than munching on a fresh, crunchy piece of absolutely fuckall once in a while. It really sets a contrast to all the KFC and all the other disease ridden take away ranches near you. Now disappear and do something meaningful, like take a nap and dream up beautiful scenes of Goddesses wandering around after dark in their eveningwear. Today is the day to start doing as little as possible with as much effort as possible.

The things we do for Love

As soon as I start feeling more myself and the coughing and splattering have calmed down to an almost-standstill, I think to myself, "What can I do to make myself feel sick again?" At that thought, I pour myself a glass of red wine, followed by a 6-pack of Black Labels, followed by an assortment of random beverages given to me by various individuals. Last night, though, I thought this a fantastic idea. But oddly enough, this morning I have a different approach to the matter after waking up in a fit of coughs again. What the luck! My plan worked! I am back in the sickness chair, attracting all the right pitiful attention. But by god am I hungry now...

Still sick with green goo flowing freely from my throat and nostrils. Bright green like a tomato on it's way to adulthood. I think this is god's way of telling me to get off my fat lazy ass and get something done with my life. Skipped work again today. Boss will murder me. I can already feel his hands gripping my throat tightly as I get to work on Monday or Tuesday, depending on what shifts he has prepared for me. I can feel my eyes popping out as I try to squeal a "Help!" while his hands wrap tighter and tighter until sight fades from view and black dots take over. At this time I will whip out my freshly oiled sword and slash his arms off and feed them to the special guests who may or may not arrive. Nevertheless, he will be eaten, and all evidence of his death will be defecation by the time the cops find out he is no longer with us. I will never be caught as I will have skipped the city by then and will have started myself a new life in Hermanus with my little sister who left me 2 weeks ago. I will share her matchbox apartment and miniature bed until she ends up ending my life with a smash on the head with one of those bottles of wine I so kindly gave her.

The end.

The Bang in the Night

Here in the land of criminals and crooks, nothing goes unnoticed. This morning was one of those. I awake in a fit of coughing and spitting all sorts of green gunk, and feeling like my head will explode in less than a split second. Once my cough attack had passed, I could finally hear the birds twittering (that means; writing statuses to each other)and whistling, and doors opening and closing. Hold on... Doors opening and closing? Whereabouts may this be? Then I hear the stomping and things being moved around. Thats my bedroom! - I'm currently staying in our spare room while we paint my own room - Is this the man from the other morning who came in and stole my boyfriends phone? Now normally in these situations, one would pick up any kind of sharp object, be it a knife, a sword, a gun, a stick. I had a pair of scissors. So upon clenching them into my white knuckled fist, I crept silently on our creaking wooden floor, across the room to the window in order to see if the criminal had left my bedroom outside door open. It was closed. The only thought that ran through my mind was, "What an idiot! that doors so hard to open, I'll kill him before he even gets a foot out"

Then I hear the footsteps down the passage, "Oh my, He might kill me before I get a chance to stab him! He could have a gun!"
But this guys a noisy bugger! Can't the neighbours hear him? These surrounding houses must all sleep with earmuffs on or something!
The footsteps move toward the kitchen. Phew! He has past me! I am safe. I wait a few seconds and hear the kitchen gate opening - he probably realised my door was jammed and he was stuck.
So I spring out my current sleeping compartment (it really is like a compartment) and haul myself toward the kitchen wielding this monstrosity of a weapon; my scissors.
the gate is left wide open, and I can still hear bang, clatter, and my heart rate has broken the Richter scale by now.

I step outside, barefoot onto cold, wet concrete, already sick, but ready to get even more sick just to catch this goddamn crook!
I look around for clues of his escape path. The bin! The bin is gone!! This guy traipses all around our house only to steal our BIN!!

What is today? Monday. What happens on a Monday? The trash guys come to take our trash. who would be taking the trash out at this time in the morning? The father! Who do I want to strangle coz he's interrupted my peaceful sleep? You guessed it. My noisy boisterous father!

But why on earth was he in my room?

Day one of the rest of our Lives

Here I sit with coffee beside me. A heated, scratchy throat that has stolen my voice, and limbs that feel like cracking and breaking off my body. Here I sit. I sit and stare. Into space, cyberspace. My eyes incoherent of the words being typed out. But here I sit, as sitting as can be. My bed calls out from beneath the sheets, beckoning me forth to whence I came. But naught, I refuse the temptation to sleep all day. I have things that need taking care of. For one, this coffee needs finishing, and this blog needs to be written. And a cigarette needs to be lit, and pressed between my lips. I can predict the sighing, the groans, the grunts from my audience. but do I really care about my health now that I'm sick as sick can be? Not a damn. This coffee is damn fine splendid. And that cigarette will be too...