Slices of death

You know when you’re playing scrabble on your techy thingamajig and it plays a word like “kibbutz”(39pts) or ”zydeco”(27pts) and you go like “ oh piss off! You totally made that up!!” then you play “frequently” (9pts). SERIOUSLY?! Start new game.

Well hello viewers, welcome to insomnia entertainment television, your host today is…<me>. “Battery low, connect your charger” drat!! Wasn’t wise Face-booking, WhatsApping, Instagraming, Tweeting, jamming to music & concurrently playing scrabble on a smartphone. It’s only been an hour? Huh…time sure moves slow when those little slices of death desert you. Laptops come in handy when android gadgets can’t handle it.

Game of Thrones, season 3, The Red Wedding. I did not see that coming then I couldn’t un-see it an hour after that scene. Talk of plot twists. Oh they said weddings were fun…and I am no stranger to blood and gore; hello Vikings! Rob’s mother all but sent us Morse code that shit was just about to get real stank for the Starks…but we still got shocked. You know a simple throat slice would have been nice. That gruesome abortion slash murder scene that went down in seconds stupefied me! C’mon George R.R. Martin-overkill dude!

Ever asked yourself just how many trillions of oral bacteria thespians have exchanged after hundreds of takes…I would make my first 3 takes count you know…especially if it’s a risqué scene...lots of fluids.

Speaking of kissing…I won’t go deep into that (pun right where it’s supposed to be) but I am tempted to call… most people have knocked out by midnight eh? Call and say what? Awkward phone call!

“Heeey …are you asleep? I cannot sleep...” She groans and grunts for a minute and says, “I’m sorry love, are you feeling okay? How can I help? Did you finish your alcohol?” you know those perfunctory questions where you can hear the other callers’ urgency to hang up in their voice. I don’t want any of that! To sort out that needy call itch, I call my broadband modem instead. Dialing. Redialing. Connecting…Signal faded! Call lost!

I am harboring a serious girl crush on her. (Yes, we are dating but I still do) She’s one of those people who just gulp life, certain of what they want and content with what they have so far. Very few people can attest that.

  She says not all heads can wear snapbacks…especially humongous oddly shaped heads then the front ends up facing the sky like the Mayor’s hat in Power Puff Girls. She’s not the type to open up the more you get to know her…seriously it’s like prying open the Jaws of Life! 

She would never look back at a traumatic experience 100years later and laugh…”Yo! That shit is still not funny; out with her head!!” Last but not least, this incredulous food thing she does where when you serve her, the peas SHOULDN’T touch the cabbages & etc. but the minute the plate is before her she mixes up everything because and I quote “they are supposed to go together! I don’t get people who say they will mix in the stomach!” and that’s not all folks, she likes her food piping hot… just when you’re about to set the table with the very hot food, she goes for a smoke only to come back and say ”Love, the food is not hot”. Most importantly, she can sleep. I envy that. I miss her. Dialing. Redialing. Connecting…Signal faded! Call lost! 0215hrs people!

I haven’t had a decent night’s rest in ages. I reckon I have been too scared, too cautious and too stuck in the same routine for four years now and now everything is catching up to my bony butt. This career path is draining the life out of me. No will to live. The weak antelope in the herd…Yup, the mangy fucker with the limp and the neon sign that says “eat me! I am a gimp.” 

 Shrouded in this foreboding thought that I will one day wake and the virile youth will have morphed into a semi geriatric two stepping fuddy-duddy with the social skills of a mole rat, knees swathed in a modest hemline, stuck in a job she wasn’t meant for and too old to start over. Then, I off myself eh? Wouldn’t that be an absolute skid mark on the pristine panties of my soul? Instincts dictate that crying is in order now but oddly, the tears don’t come. It does feel like prison, and that means only one thing makes sense conceptually…I have to break out. Am I too old to pierce my navel?

…Ahem! An hour later…forget avocados; a cocktail of misery, fear, isolation and existential dread is the best aphrodisiac.

I THINK I hear footsteps outside. Did I lock my door?

This is not HBO; I crawl deeper under the covers (Hey! I do not want to bear witness to my own demise). Okay, so I need to pee this very minute!? *palm face* It’s probably all in my head. This insomnia thing is messing me up good.

I’m hungry.Maybe when it dawns (safe to go outside) I will go treat myself to fancy Bohemian I-am-better-than-everybody else coffee…wage a racial croissant war maybe…get hit on by hairy Armenians.

 

I hate getting hit on pointblank 
period! More so by strange old men, 
male friends and overly aggressive 
butch dykes who just won’t quit!

 I know what I want/like…when it comes to that, so this idea that consent can be fucked into a woman is the moral rot in the society.

 No means no Pepe Le pew!

Your battery is running low. (10%) You may want to plug in 

your PC. Aargh no! ...wait... I feel a yawn coming 

on…that’s definitely a yawn! Finally!

  
27minutes pass

“Alarm goes off” it’s 6.30am.

Grrr...Little slices of death!