This is not how I imagined it to be.
The noise of the hoover.
The clinginess of my dog. Just as bad as work is. In six fucking goddamn hours, I only managed 75 pages of Kerouac. I fucking hate life at the moment. I don’t have space.
It was agreed: NO PRESENTS for Christmas. Suddenly, my mum gave me money, and my dad gave my sister and me UBS sticks. Why? I don’t think you can imagine how pissed off I am. It has nothing to do with them being kind, OK? I am cold-hearted! I feel guilty. The only Christmas present I bought was a new blanket for my dogs, and that was it. I did think of buying things for my family, 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 solitary Christmas I had was 2006, where I was alone in a house in England. My housemates went home to their families, and I had the house to myself till the end of the year. I read over five books during that Christmas holiday. I’d never had so much time for myself.
Nowadays, I can’t even finish a book halfway in a day. I continuously hear the vacuum cleaner, the sweeper or my dog scratching at the door. Whenever he wants attention and wants me to hold him, I don’t view him as my dog anymore, more like a child. AND IT SCARES ME. God! No one on earth wants and needs so much attention other than children. It’s more exhausting than work. You close your ears and scream. And at the end of the day, you hate yourself for what you’ve done. You feel guilt. I don’t need that. I don’t want that.
If only the library were open.
I had a terrible, disgusting dream in which I was sitting next to an older 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 some cardboard right in front of me. Why do I dream bullshit like that?
I think I know why.
I want to suggest certain people not to make an effort to get to know me and stop reading my blog. I won’t feed your curiosity, especially not if you want something. I offer shit with some truth on top. If you don’t know what this all is about, you should go.
I tried to sleep with the lights off last night, but it was impossible. I used to feel safe in the dark. People say that it’s better to sleep in a pitch dark room. You’ll have no reason to be scared, but I disagree because this is what makes you most vulnerable. After all, you are unaware of what might be lurking in the dark. Therefore I think blind people must be shitting their pants 24 hours a day. I know that having the lights on doesn’t make it any better, but at least you can see. You can be prepared if necessary. I wouldn’t mind having the lights off if someone else was sleeping in my room. If I ever shared a bed with someone again, I would insist on sleeping on the inside, preferably facing the wall.
Seriously, the scariest and freakiest thing in the world is waking up on the bed’s edge and seeing someone standing next to you. If there was a name for this phobia, it should be “wakophobia.” It has nothing to do with East Asian pirates. It’s the shock after the wake.
I caught a cold. I had the window open for too long while running on the treadmill. This is bad because I was convinced that I wouldn’t catch a cold this winter due to all that vitamin C. As I already said: fruits and broccoli aren’t enough. Share some happiness with me, please.
Kerouac was an alcoholic. Why do I have a thing for alcoholic writers? Oh yes, they are uncontrollably honest, and that is sexy. In fact, Kerouac’s right here next to me. We just finished chapter 69.