joi, 1 octombrie 2009

Wish You Bad Luck....

Or that's what you wish to yourself, every second that you have available for thinking about other things than thoroughly sweeping the blueish tile floor or dusting that wood patterned surface of paper. Like you can't get enough, especially after such a day...
You wake up late in the morning-you're close to hitting the barrier between morning and afternoon, yet, you sleepwalk from the bedroom to the bathroom, you precariously follow the daily hygienic ritual, trying desperately to remove the last spots of drowsiness of your mind. Yet, you go on sleepwalking, feeling that the carpets are made of colourful savanna weeds, long enough to hide you. You open the door, close it behind you, lock it, then check its resistance once or twice, shortly before forgetting all your automatic gestures and wondering whether your door is too welcoming for burglars.
As you head towards a place where you would spend all your money, you get your eye caught on a book, shining behind an innocuous vitrine. You can't wait to make it yours, so you engage into a short, yet intense fight with the zippers of your purse, then, with the stubborn pink wallet, you take out two, maybe three banknotes, while a beggar-looking man asks the shopkeeper for another pack of cigarettes. You wait, patiently, fall asleep again, then grab the book that has become yours. You encounter resistance, you pull it harder from the hands of the half-old woman, who asks you again for money. Though you allow yourself to scream "What???", you obediently give her the money, walk away, full of anger, designing an intricate vengeance plan that includes grenades/zippos on fire/newspaper torches/throwing rocks etc. You try to calm yourself down, think about your wrong deeds, that may have been punished by this easy to avoid loss, can't help imagining the poor improvised thief dead, with the money spread across her chest.
In front of a building, which is, for you, the center of the universe, you meet an old friend, who has an interesting manner of speaking. Tired as you are, you partly listen to her, approve her arguments, feel happy for her newly discovered reason for pride. You'd like to get involved, yet, you are busy recovering a lost night. You are not even trying to make an impression, though you fit the vaunting type on a daily basis. She gets hungry, buys some olive bagels, offers me one, despite my resistance. She eats, and you conscientiously follow her; suddenly, you take a close look at the inside of the bagel; you discover that someone has picked his/her nose and left the debris in the filling. Not very keen on swallowing epithelial cells, coated with a thick bacterial layer, you remove the corpus delicti, along with a piece of bread, eat the rest, in spite of feeling an incessant urge to throw up.
You refuse to eat all day; you have won the match with your hunger. Finally, you'd be able to stick to your diet; you are very close to happiness.

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