House lizards mortally scare the daylights out of me. Their minuscule talons clinging onto the wall holding the entire weight of their walnut colored gloppy body. Ewww. And there is more: I don’t trust them. It’s because I don’t know what is going on in their heads – if they have any, that is. Many a people say that lizards hardly fall down from the walls. Absolute bunkum, this! With my own buffed eyes have I witnessed them tumbling onto the ground with a deafening thud! Also, the whole hang-eggshells-from-the-ceiling thing doesn’t work. Preposterous solutions to such a grave issue!
However, in such desperate situations, what I do is pull up all my furniture away from the walls and subconsciously indulge in liturgical prayers to the Lord so that at least the creatures won’t start slinking on my marble floor. Believe you me; I’ve witnessed them on the floor too! As a preliminary precaution, I always keep a broom with a long staff in my room. Keyword: ALWAYS. (And as a secondary provision, I also keep a wedged heel incase the former measure fails)
I loathe summers because of these creepy-crawlies. They come scuttling out, feeding on one another, scaring the wits out of people like me. Roaches are something I can narrowly put up with. Same goes for the under winged moths that are drawn to the light inexplicably (insert quixotic analogy here). And since I’ve never grappled with a snake, they can be put out of context with much ease. I can easily abuse spiders and squish them under flip-flops. I’m such a callous bitch, hence I’ll stop now.
I just harked back to the time when I read James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl. The kid had to cohabit with bugs/pests etc – absolute baloney if you ask me! And here I go bearing animosity again. Hah!
Over and out.
I’ve been cramming my head with all the information the mighty world can infuse into me. It’s a much composed realization, yet I cannot bring myself to pull the plug on this fixation. Undeniably, this particular ingestion has adversely affected me; my decision-making has sapped & the surety of dictating other fields of life especially the one concerning academic stability has toppled incurably.
My mind is a parasite guzzling on the inexhaustible world, all the more terrible when roused. The fusty “information” assembles and disperses with equal suddenness in this fickle and ambiguous ocean. Alas! I’m just another sallow prisoner of my conscience. That being said, idle talk never outlives reasoning. So, I’ll just peter out on this subject.
On a lighter note, I now can recall the 27 member states of the EU. Also, I’ve somewhat become proficient at playing Mahjong. Of course both the aforementioned “flairs” are absolute codswallop! And now I end this rave.
Another day frittered away without any progress on the whole oh-I-gotta-study-plan. Guess I’m not much of a pragmatist when it comes to sealing the deal with all the blueprints in my head. I’ve been so immersed in watching F.R.I.E.N.D.S & spending an excruciating spell of time deciding what to eat that I almost forgot about the traumatizing month that yet has to go all cockcrow on me (and hopefully two million other kids). By the way, this is just another ‘hit and miss’ realization – here today, gone tomorrow.
Come to think of it, I’m not completely wide of the mark – at least not yet. I’ve thirty more days to get my act together and who knows, I might win a lotto and end up in Sicily. Or, I could just start taking this whole studying business seriously with a resolute head. Though what are the odds of the former happening? And I’m so not answering this question myself. I hate statistical math, let alone calculus. I don’t mind algebra, or geometry, or trigonometry for that matter. But do I have to integrate and differentiate and crunch numbers in all the bizarre methods possible? I can’t even get my head around the elementary formulas. Rote learning is not my (for lack of a better phrase) line of attack. Mathematics, and I’m strictly referring to it as a subject & a subject alone, is an abomination. Period. Blimey! What course has this entry embarked upon! 😛
For now, I need to pull the plug on being a major nitpicker. It’s only a matter of time (a month to be more precise) till I completely yield to the gravity of this dire situation. Time is running out but my words aren’t. Oh Lord I need to get a life. Later!
His face was scrawny and bewhiskered; a bristly moustache streaked his upper lip. His nut-brown hair, unkempt, fell on the forehead. His shabby clothes were much the worse for a wear; a floppy shirt paired with an unconventional trouser that hung loosely on his waist and a slovenly apology for a muffler. His shoes were grubby and had taken a grey course about the heels. Such was his appearance – indeed a disreputable one; but the botheration never occurred to him. His thoughts were affixed on the destination that Providence yet had to decide for him.
As the stagecoach topped the low, pine-clad ridge, he looked towards the scorching, dry valley that stretched for miles before his very eyes. The glaring day was gradually losing its heat and the afternoon was dragging itself out in absolute discreteness. He approached a puzzling fork in the road and without contemplating on which path to take, he continued west-wards. Such had been the order of his journey ever since.
Despite the day’s exhaustion, he still felt a certain momentum to his activity.
A quarter of a mile away; a few blank pages would soon flow with ink. A notebook will be extracted from a shelf drawn out. A door will fling open. A wooden bolt will unlock. A flight of steps will be climbed hastily. A gate will be unhinged noisily. A subway ticket will be carelessly thrown on the sidewalk. A pole will be tightly held onto. A seat will be scuffled for by some men. A sleeve will get stuck in the doorway. A collar button will break in half. An old wristwatch will be tapped upon irately. Two men will be greeted with indifference.
The two men will continue their journey downtown. The minute hand of the old wristwatch will stop working. The broken half of the collar button will further crush under three-inch pencil heels. The doorway will jerk open every now and then. A hippie will occupy the seat. Seven hands will still hold onto the icy pole. A fast car will blow the subway ticket towards an open gutter in the street. The noisy gate will wake up the tenants.
Out of the two men, one will stop by at Ryes and order a fruit salad. He is in his late thirties and eats with a sense of extravagant indulgence. He will be back home before the family dinner. He will takes out his wallet and unroll a five and twenty dollar bill. He will remind himself to save enough for his trip back. He will then ask the waiter to pack another bowl of fruit salad.
A girl in her early twenties will take an early train back home. She is dressed chicly. Her three-inch heels show off her ripe age. Her gait is suggestive. A hippie will whistle as she gets on the subway. She will ignore him invariably and mutter some inaudible curses under her breath. She will then put the ticket in her fancy handbag and fish out a hand mirror. She will frivolously blush at her own image.
The hippie will make himself comfortable on his seat. He will bluntly gawk at every passenger standing in front of him. He will then start humming Streets of Philadelphia and begin tapping his feet on the metal floor.
A stray dog will sniff around and chew some leftovers. The subway ticket will be ripped in half; one residing in the dog, the other abandoned on the side of an open gutter in the street…