It’s raining cats and dogs and possibly even hamsters. It’s a day when you get up, look out the window and rollover back into bed. You hear all over the radio that “the rain is good for the dams!” but sometimes you just want it to rain like this for a week straight so the environmental scare-mongers might just shut the hell up. My mood always sucks on days like this. ...
Stories abound of people getting mugged just for having those famous white headphones, so I went hunting last week for a new pair. That and I had medical advice that I better switch away from the in-ear headphones, meaning my choices were in the over-the-ear range. I strayed for all of 2 minutes into the sound-cancelling zone; the sound cancelling really does work, but gods, the price. THE PRICE, MAN. $250 for a pair of headphones that are as chunky as my attempts to chop up onions?! (woo bad mixed metaphor~) ...
It’s the perverse, dark satisfaction you feel when you see right through someone’s act - it’s a evil, delicious knowledge, of just knowing that you know this person is acting, and hamming it up. If you could, you’d watch the reactions of those around, to see if anyone is fooled, to nod knowingly at the other people who perceive the fakery. But you can’t, because you can’t look away from the slow motion train wreck you can see unfolding. And you know when the moment comes you’ll laugh and you’ll sigh and say “i told you so,” and then you’ll cackle evilly. Because you’re human, and humans carry grudges, and it’s marvellous to see the begruged spiral themselves out of control. ...
It’s funny how when you find yourself with little to do, you get more agitated than when you have more than enough or too much to do. How it makes you feel guilty to say that “no, I’m not actually that busy at work…”. I suppose in the times when everything is hectic and it feels like there’s nowhere near enough hours in the day, that I’d look on times like these as idyllic paradise(s). But in the middle of it, it’s a different outlook… ...
… if the stories I’m attracted to, the ones of unrequited, star-crossed love and poignant misunderstandings, shape my view of things somehow, so those stories that bore me, the stories of love requited, of complications sorted, those stories and the aspects that make up their core are somehow ignored; that somewhere in there, I’m really just a sucker for melodrama of the highest order. Nah, who am I kidding? Oh right, myself. ...