Raided the mess at one in the morning with Thambi a few nights ago, only to find solidified rice, watery dal and a few cockroaches. Said dal and rice was then mixed with various "extras" raided from nearby rooms and rudely awoken junis. Fun.
There is an incredible sense of freedom one gets by roaming the streets of a city with just enough money to take a bus ride back. When you know you can't buy anything, you somehow don't really want to.
My room has become a source of increasing amounts of stress. Recently lost a one hundred rupee note. Yes, there is one hundred frikkin rupees lying somewhere in the mess. Thamb offered to clean me room for five hundred bucks. Told him to go find a tiny hole in the wall.
This is my room a few months ago. It has become worse
Flash from the past entered the college portals once again, all rosy dozy skin and flawless features and the most gorgeous set of thighs the good Lord hath ever made! Had nearly made up my mind to initiate conversation then decided that it would be like taking four puffs of an unfiltered gudang garam after eating a dozen Viks. Pointless really.
A few days ago, someone says to me "I can so imagine you as a little kid". Looked at speaker in wonder, for in my opinion it would have been better to say "AAm a frikkkin re-tardo withh veery leetle imaginasun". Point being that its not so hard to imagine.
The Burmese has launched a merciless attack on my personal character. Says that I am the laziest person on earth who sleeps all day, is totally self centered and lacks any motivation whatsoever. He also abused my room, upon which I simply had to draw the line. A man has his limits no? Plus its not like I sleep all day.
Lastly, have decided to dedicate my free time to studying womanese. Sample:
No= I don't actually mean no, but then that day why didnt you answer that question clearly?
Am busy now. Speak to you later= Not busy at all. This is the signal for you to butt in and say that you want to speak to me. Uff do I have to make it so bloody obvious?!?
Etc etc.
Oh and Hemingway is a bloody genius, especially when it comes to writing about love. Making love.
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3 comments:
Aww...poor little kid...so much to think of!
But honestly, where in that debris do you sleep, kid?
not surprised at all with the picture of your room..how u manage to sleep there is a wonder..
about the "womanese" i am rather disappointed in you. i thought you were rather well-trained with respect to the language of the more delicate sex.
^mutiny aunty
i sleep on me bed only! its right there!
^trip planner
apparently the training is never really over
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