My mind’s on Hozomeen

Well this is not how I had imagined it to be. Sincerely. So wrong. All that. And this. The noise of the hoover. The affection of my dog. Just as bad as work is. In six fucking goddamn hours I only managed 75 pages with Kerouac. This is disgraceful. I fucking hate life at the moment. I just don’t seem to have a room.

It was agreed: NO PRESENTS at Christmas. Then all of a sudden my mum gave me money and my dad gave me and my sister UBS sticks. What the fuck is this? I don’t think you can even imagine how fucking pissed off I am. It has nothing to do with them being kind-hearted, ok? I am being cold-hearted! That is it! I hate guilty conscience! The only Christmas presents I bought was a new blanket for my dogs and that was it. I did think of buying things for my family, too, but thought I’d better not, as my mum would start moaning “It’s such a waste of money! Don’t buy us anything…!” Blah Blah! The best Christmas I had was 2006, where I was all by myself in a house in England. All my housemates had gone home to their home and I had the house to myself till the end of the year. I read over five books during those Christmas holidays. I never had so much time for myself; it was wonderful. Nowadays I can’t even finish a book halfway in one day. Constantly I hear the hoover, the sweeper or my dog scratching at the door. Whenever he wants attention and wants me to hold him, I don’t see him as my dog anymore, I see my future child. AND I HATE IT. God I hate it. No one on earth wants and needs so much attention other than children. This is more exhausting than work. Then you start to scream at them and ignore them. And at the end of the day you hate yourself for what you’ve done. Seriously. Guilty conscience. I do not need that. I do not want that. Not now. Not any time soon.  If only the library was open.

I had a terrible, disgusting dream in which I was sitting next to an old man in a taxi. He needed to poop very badly but the taxi driver wouldn’t stop to let him out. So the old man decided to poop into a cardboard right in front of me. Why do I dream bullshit like that?

I think I know why.

I would like to suggest certain people not to make the effort to get to know me and to stop reading my blog. Your curiosity won’t ever be fed by me; especially not if you want everything. I offer shit; shit with truth on top. If you don’t know what this all is about, then go.

I tried to sleep with lights off last night, but it was not possible. I used to feel so safe in the dark. In fact people say that it’s better not to see anything in your room, then you have nothing to be scared about, but I disagree, because this is what makes you most vulnerable, because you are unaware of what might be going on in the dark. Therefore I think blind people must be shitting their pants 24 hours a day. I know that having the lights on is not any better, but at least you get to see what might be there and what might be happening. You can defend yourself  if necessary.  I wouldn’t mind having the lights off if someone else was sleeping in my room. If I was ever to share a bed with someone again, I would insist on sleeping on the inside (having the wall on one side and him on the other). Seriously, the scariest and freakiest thing in the world is waking up on the edge of the bed and seeing someone standing next to your bed. If there could be a name for this sort of a phobia, I would call it “wakophobia”. It has nothing to do with East Asian pirates, but with shock after waking up.

I caught a little cold. I had the window open for too long whilst running on the treadmill. Now this is bad, because I was convinced that I wouldn’t catch a cold this winter due to the great amount of fruits that I consume. As I already said: fruits and broccoli aren’t enough. Share some happiness with me, will you.

Kerouac was an alcoholic. Why do I have a thing for alcoholics who are in the world of literature? Oh yes, they are uncontrollably honest and that is sexy. In fact, Kerouac’s right here next to me. We just finished chapter 69.

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