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fuck this shit
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although my life has been pretty fulfilling ( read: unexciting , boring , its my party and i cry if i want to ! ) so far , i find myself getting all riled up over the slightest of reasons like

1) being inflicted with a most distracting sort of insomnia. it must be some fucking new breed that has evolved after years of late nights because i AM able to lull myself to sleep , but only after 6am. i must have become immune to those little white pills promising sweet sweet dreams because even after maxing out the recommended dosage of 2 1/2 pills , i still remain alert. and this is seriously shitty because i spend my days in a trance , falling asleep in trains and buses and then starting the cycle all over again.

2) my hamsters running in their cranky fucking wheel. the noise is enough to wake king tut up and i wake up at 8am to overturn their wheel , sending them scurrying for their lifes in shock. i know , i'm a cunt. *note to self: buy them a new running wheel*

3) a developing case with cleanliness bordering on obsessive-compulsive behaviour. especially my hands. its gets so bad that seeing the slightest smudge of brown dirt under my own nail makes me want to hurl and pick at it with any pointed small object like a pin or the corner of a card immediately.

i'd feel equally disgusted seeing grime under other people's nails. i could look away and ignore it but somehow by reflex i keep turning back to stare.

i'd hate it so much when i get sticky palms after steppin out of a cold environment due to the condensation that i have to get my hands under running water.

i'll get paranoid about making contact with "public" surfaces like train seatsthat i'll wrap my uncovered back ( when i'm in camisoles or halters ) with my shawl or sit at the edge if i'm wearing something short.

and worst of all , i'll feel so nauseated in public toilets especially when confined in a cubicle. i'll fixate on the dirtiest scrummiest corner filled with matted hair balls swimming in brown mush and unidentified coagulated bits in spite of myself and then feeling so dirty that i could feel my lunch rising up my throat and tears stinging my eyes. even thinking about it now draws up graphic images in my mind's eye and i have to suck on a vick's candy to get my mind off it.

to sum it this cleanliness issue up , somehow my mind wants to look at things i just don't want to see and consequently ( and always successfully ) making me feel grossed out and uncleansed.

and oh i just got a bottle of hand sanitiser from the pharmacy and its bloody effective in making that sticky palm syndrome go away.

4) this recurring dream about a fucked up experience i had with a whole steamed chicken when i was about 8. my grandmother forgot that she cooked and left a chicken in a pot before we all went out for a short getaway to Thailand.

we returned a week later and i was the first in the kitchen because i was hungry. seeing the pot on the stove of course i uncovered the lid and saw the chicken still in one beautiful piece and i did not know that it had been there for a week already , much less question its presence.

my fingers reached inside to pick up the chicken and.... the whole fucking thing DISINTEGRATED like powder and beneath the collapsed heap was a mass of fat white maggots and other swarming creatures , a few which were on my hand. fuck , the chicken had been hollowed out by the savages , leaving only top part intact. i dreamt about this thrice in two weeks already and i always woke up in cold sweat. shit.

5) seeing a Durex wrapper in the thrash bag after getting home late on a saturday night. my mind conjures up disturbing scenes of my dad and his girlfriend in various positions and it makes me lose my appetite . fuck , obviously "discreet" is not in their limited vocab. how stupid can they be , throwing that into a filled-to-the-brim trash bag ? ( yes i know that its incredibly immature of me to think like that but deep down inside i know that if the woman inside the master bedroom's my mother , i'll probably just chuckle to myself and secretly berate my parents for being so openly kinky )

i am neither depressed nor suicidal or whatever equally shitty terms you can come up with, but i get angry with myself for being so unable to tolerate such minor situations.

i am goin to learn the art of Zen and meditate.

ohm.

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listening to : franz ferdinand - do you want to ( i'm better off listenin to deathcab or cafe del mar at this point of time. i will , later )

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p.s : apologies for the excessive language. an angry blogger is a vulgar blogger.