Phantom animals

One

I asked her why there were so many receipts for cat food, when it was a hostel business. Did they provide shelter for cats? Who paid for the cats' lodging then?

She said no, the owner of the hostel was running an ordinary hostel; it just so happens she has a soft spot for cats..and there were a lot in the area. There was a porch and cemented area (at which point she starts to hold out something in her hands. Nothing that I could see, but it was there; in her head, in her hands) that the cats could freely "hang out" at. Her hand seemed to be cuddling some imaginary cat as she spoke. She stroked it. She continued: the owner would feed the cats at this "open lounge" and that is why she is buying so much cat food; hence the receipts for 10kgs of cat food almost every week.

She was not only fondling an imaginary cat by now, she had also "lifted" and adjusted the poor critter and continued stroking it. She looked out far into the distance as she spoke, and continued to pet whatever feline she had in mind as she told me this very important bit of information.

I couldn't decide which is more amusing; the hostel owner spending almost 500 bucks a month on stray cats (she sometimes hired groomers and cleaners to tend to the loungers' needs), or my esteemed colleague cuddling an imaginary cat.

 

 

Two

Found in a book: At this time our goats had two kids, our sheep had five lambs and one of our dogs had puppies.

 

I wanted them to identify that goats' offspring are called kids, sheep's lambs, and dogs' puppies.

"What are the babies of dogs called?" (points to book)

"puppies"

"What are babies of goats called?"

"Baby goats"

"No no…." (points to book)

"Chicks!"

"No! What did the goats have?" (points to book)

"Kids"

"So what are baby goats called?"

"Chicks!"

"No…" (a toitle feeling emerges)

"What did the goats have?"

"Kids!"

"And what did the dogs have?"

"Puppies!"

"So what are the babies of goats called?"

"Kittens!!"

 

Oh God………save me. This goes on for about 20 minutes and I finally give up. One boy stands up and tells me about his dog that had puppies. His language is less than sufficient, but he tries..

"Last time, my dog have puppy. But two die."

I notice he seems to be 'cradling' something as he speaks. I think it is a puppy. A phantom one, but a puppy nonetheless.

"When two die, I sad. But I boy, so I don't cry."

His voice is rough, his actions even more so. But he is gently cupping his hands where (I assume) a puppy could fit. He caresses each one, then turns away from the rest, murmuring to his departed puppies.

*heart melts*

Another unloading

 

"Age does not guarantee wisdom.

Education does not guarantee intelligence."

 

 

It's that time of year again. The monsters move into hibernation for a month. A whole month being parted from my beloved monsters. They no longer hate me as vehemently as they did a year ago; in fact, they are very much undeniably sweet. Mama loves all of you equally. Some more equally than others, but equally nonetheless.

We don't get to choose who we imprint on. Part of why we just suddenly find ourselves falling for people we know aren't the ones we technically seek is because of this unrecognizable human nature of imprinting. I saw how this kid imprinted onto his driver. I'd known the kid for months and he was just "there". Talkative, sure, but he was just "there". Until the new driver came in. One day, when I was walking him up to the van, his face just suddenly lit up and I saw that he was looking at the driver. He looked up at me and told me that later in the van he was going to tell the driver about his bread. On another day he practiced roaring like a lion with me because he was going to roar with his uncle in the van. The driver understood that the kid had taken favor onto him, and he entertained the excited boy each time. They connected. They didn't choose to, and didn't have to think much of it, they just connected.

It's not the first instance I've seen of kids suddenly transforming once they get to know a certain other person; but this particular one amazed me on a different level. First of all, the driver was new, hardly spoke any English, and has not much prior experience with children. The kid speaks only English (kiddish words and sentence structure, but still, English) and has met several other adults who are more likely to have gained his liking. However, it was this particular person who the kid chose. It was his "favorite driver", and according to the kid, the fella is awesome.

I'm lucky enough to have had a few of my own. And thinking about it, I could never choose who I wanted. The connection was either there, or it wasn't. The trick is, to recognize when it's there, and to build up on it. I always tell my monsters that I love them not in spite of them being monsters, but rather I love them because of it. I love that they show me how they hate the world, because it means they aren't afraid of being their true selves with me. I love that they are grumpy, because it means they trust me enough to know what they need of me, and that I'm here for them in their ugly grumpiness. I love that they criticize me mercilessly, because it means that they know I am willing to admit I am mistaken whenever I am; and that they welcome me to be mistaken. I do not look for perfection in them, and they return to me this great favor. I do not have to be any vision of perfection, I do not have to match some elusive expectation, and I do not have to put up a strong front. All I have to be is what I am. What I truly am. And they grace me with the privilege of knowing who they truly are.

A little bit crazy.

    So I like to drink tea. Why do you grudge my tea-drinking prowess? Why do you question my innocent cup seeping in the sun? It's a cup of tea, that's all it is. I drink it. It is my tea. What poor childhood did you go through that you grudge me a cup of tea? My own cup of tea. You didn't buy it for me. I made it. Myself. I made myself a cup of tea. Stop questioning it. Just leave it alone. Don't you know tea gets petrified when questioned? Stay away from my tea!!

A week’s worth of unloading.

I don't want to read

I don't want to eat

I don't want to sleep

I don't want to lie down.

 

I've spent the whole week crawling painfully into bed. Sick, sore throat, even completely losing my voice at some point. Just as I thought I'd gotten better, my body decides it's time to have a major case of the cramps. I haven't had cramps in months. And of all times for it to arrive, was at the spa. Thanks, anatomy. Thanks a lot.

 

On another note, I had fun this week. Not with the usual things I have fun with, but this time with a colleague. I drove her insane with my antics. Eventually, just seeing me smile would irritate her. But she couldn't help but smile too. She'd burst into a small laugh and that would irritate herself even more. I'd smile again. She'd start cursing at me. I'd smile again. Eventually our boss caught wind of our game and demanded to know what was going on. I insisted I was just smiling at her, and that she was getting pissed at me for it. My boss replied with "Well that's because you only smile when you've done something. Something that someone should be wary of." Thanks boss, glad to know you have such faith in me.

 

On yet another note, I spent four hours with animals. I like animals, but these were most undeniably animalistic. They did not recognize affection, did not respond to loving purrs, did not want any treats, all they wanted to do was get in the fighting cage and maul each other. I had no voice to prevent this, my body too tired to fight back, my mind not awake enough to think of an exit strategy. So I just stood there. In all my helplessness, I just stood there. She kept telling me all this is just temporary, that I needn't worry about it. What does that mean? That I don't have to care? Fine, then.

 

And then, of all things, my rice cooker had to break down. I hardly use it, but it was handy to have. Then they came and told me that one day "it just stopped working". Great. They asked for the warranty card (which I have no idea where I put). And now God knows no one's going to get that fixed. Perhaps one of them will buy a new one. Perhaps. They are the ones who use it regularly.

I can speak.

Listen to me.

There are thoughts in my head.

They make sense.

I am intelligent.

I am wise.

I have great things to say.

Just listen to me.

Listen not just to what I have to say,

But also to how I think.

Listen to my outlook on life.

It is worth something.

It is worth you listening

It is worth you taking the time.

Don't listen to me because I look nice

Because I look like a rainbow after a rainy day

Not because I look like I just walked off a TV set

Not because of your secret wishes to undress me.

Listen because of the warmth of what I say

Listen because in my frustration there is always humor

Listen because in my anger there is always amusement

Listen to me for my thoughts.

They make up who I am.

But if my voice is taken away, remember that my thoughts are not.

I am still that same person.

I still have that same warmth

I still have my sense of humor

I still feel amused.

Do not jeer at me because I am confined to gestures.

Do not look down on me because I do not have the gift of speech.

Am I nothing if I do not have my voice?

Do I only matter because of my voice?

Is that all I have that is of value?

You, you who point and jeer,

You who prod me with filthy fingers.

You know nothing of my wrath.

Am I only a body,

Not capable of feeling,

Not capable of hurt,

Simple because I cannot speak?

Simply because I cannot yell and scream

Because I cannot give retorts to foolish teasings?

Why am I suddenly of lesser value?

You who do not dare to even look at me when I am capable of speech,

What gives you the sudden courage

Knowing that I cannot return your unworthy tauntings?

Why am I degraded,

Why do you dismiss me as uneducated,

Why do you judge me to be weak,

Simply by my inability to speak?

I have a voice.

You may not hear it right now.

But it is there.

I have thoughts, and I can speak.

Perhaps not right now,

But I can speak.

I can say powerful things,

I can be even more hurtful than you are now

I can make you cry without even laying a finger on you

If only I had my voice.

But today,

It eludes me.

And you found me on my weakest of days.

And you broke me down.

I still hoped there would be lollipops.

    Haven't been to any for years. Literally, years. I don' even remember my last time. And now I had to go. It's one of those things that you wouldn't go to unless you absolutely had to. And I had to. And I had to go to a place I had never been, a place I don't want to be, and I was alone. I sat timidly waiting. Just waiting. The waiting wasn't so bad. It was the moment the taste of what was happening that I started to close my eyes. I caught myself reciting chants t calm my shivering body. My fingers were numb. She asked if I was ok, I told her I was terrified. There were tears forming in corners of my eyes, and I felt soon they would start trickling out. Thank God they didn't.

    When she told me all wasn't well, and showed me photos to prove it, my heart sank. I'd have to go there again, and again. It would be my new "hangout". Except I hated it. I hated the sights, the smells, and even though the people were extra gentle (given my condition), I still wasn't comforted by it. I felt frail, and weak. But I held on, and I survived Round 1. And I'll survive Round 2, and no matter how many more, I'll face it. With tears in my eyes, with scrunched forehead, with numb fingers, I'll face it. And I'll regain myself each time.

A new word has been created.

 

Toitle – Describes the moment when a harmless, foolish mistake has been made that you want to repair, but cannot (for whatever reason) so the only thing you can do is to look at another person and laugh. A helpless laugh. You know the mistake isn't that great, but it is irritating that you cannot fix things so all you can do is laugh.

 

I have been having many toitle moments lately. The only reason I can laugh about it is because in a way, I know it will end soon, but another terribleness will come right after. So all there is, is toitle. I wouldn't go so far as to say "out of the frying pan and into the boiling pot" because I know it won't harm me physically, and that I will survive this moment. Horrible as it may be, I will survive it.

Disbelief.

Take moment.

Think about it.

Think of someone random in your life. Someone you know, but not enough to call a friend, but not estranged enough to be a complete stranger.

Just think of someone.

Anyone.

What if, that person suddenly disappeared from your life? As in, one day they were in it, and the next they weren't. They still exist, still live their lives pretty much the same way. Still go about their routines, still interact with them same people. Except you.

You text, no reply. You call, they don't pick up. They haven't blocked you (as far as you know) from any social media or apps, and in a sense they are right there in your phone's memory. But they aren't in your life anymore. They no longer speak to you, and you no longer see them. In a way, they are still your "friend", or so says the social sites. And the way "smart" inventions are, everybody and their kitchen sink is synced to your phone's memory. Like it or not, they are there, but they are not.

It's bizarre how all the interactive apparatus should technically bring us closer, but as the same time, when everything is so accessible, nothing is. You see them, you see where they go, how they feel, what they are wearing, but at the same time, they are no longer part of your life. They remain in your life, but at the same time they are out of it.

Even if you knew where they lived, what car they drive, where they eat, where they send their dry cleaning, it is so easy for them to cut you out of their lives. It's like "today I decide I want nothing more to do with you" and then you're just thrown out.

Sometimes you know exactly the reason for this, but sometimes you don't. Even if you knew why, part of denial is that you try to rationalize what they've done, and partially you start blaming yourself. Perhaps you are partly to be blamed. Perhaps it is their loss at losing you. Perhaps you are lucky to be cut out early on so you aren't sucked into some sort of terrible whirlpool. Perhaps it was all for the best.

All the possibilities run through your head, and you keep going over them one by one. Trying to understand. Trying to comprehend. Trying to make sense of what has happened. You thought you mattered. You thought it was different this time. You thought you made a difference.

 

In the end, it just hurts, that's all.

 

 

 

No more lollipops or jelly beans.

It's not the first time. There was once before. I don't remember the details of the first, because that's just the way things are designed. But there is one distinct detail I do remember. That feeling of tooth fragments filling up my mouth. I'd spit them out, but then there would be more. I tried holding on to them, not wanting to lose my teeth, but I knew the inevitable was already there. It was just me trying to hold on.

The first time, I don't think it was so severe. It was one tooth, chipping away and I would "taste" the fragments and try not to spit it out. I could taste the rotten bloody teeth tingling on my tongue, and it was disgusting. I finally spat it out to discover I had lost a tooth.

But yesterday, it was more than that. Again and again, no matter how many times I spat onto the pavement, wherever I walked, more tooth fragments would appear to fill up my mouth. I guess I must've been some sort of shark, otherwise no way should I have any teeth at all. I proceeded to accept that I had lost those teeth that I spat out, and the pain eventually went away. I ran my tongue over the bare gums and went to a dentist. He had me fitted with brand new gnashers. They fit the purpose, for when I smiled no one knew they were fake. But I did. And I smiled anyways, knowing all the while I was no longer complete. But I didn't feel resentful that at such a young age I no longer had my biters. Somehow, I just felt acceptance. It hurt, but I accepted it.

 

Maybe I'm just nervous about the upcoming dentist appointment I have, or maybe they are signs of greater things to come. No matter what, I will find a way to reach that state of acceptance.

Apple chips and mango crumbles.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed. When you look forward to something, then it doesn't happen, you can't help but feel disappointed. Sometimes you are lucky that you are bestowed the immediate realization of it not coming through. But sometimes, time drags on; and you keep hoping that you misread things, that there was still hope that whatever it is that caused you to smile and skip about was going to come true. But that time of hope is still the same. You smile at yourself, imagine yourself smiling, even when you're not. You smile on the inside, you replay all the wonderful possibilities you are about to encounter. You beam at yourself, you sing a little song to keep the mood going. You move faster, somehow, so time feels like it's moving slower. You keep waiting, and waiting, and you look forward to that special thing ahead of you. Then you come to realize it's just not coming true after all.

 

Dreams last for so long

Even after you're gone

 

Snakes in a plane

 
    So after my much needed vacay, I came back to the office to see my admin staff usher in a wildlife guy and bring him to the back. Wait….wildlife guy? What's he doing here? Apparently, on Monday when one of the male workers opened the back door, he found a nest of baby cobras. He put them into a box and threw it away, and afterwards the admin girl called the wildlife people and asked what they should do, and they said they'd come for a consult.

 
Wait, let's rewind for a bit.

he found a nest of baby cobras

a nest of baby cobras

a nest of baby cobras

baby cobras

cobras.

Now, a bit of informative reflection:

 
Pay close attention to what it says about the mother. She stays with the eggs. Guards the mounds tenaciously. Venom is as potent as that of the adults.

 
Ok, now let the panic set in.

 

 

 
Helllllll…….we park our cars right by that door. There was a cobra's nest there all along???

 
When I was younger, a king cobra made its way into my house, and I was alone at the time (save for my fat uncle-cat and a recent mommy cat and her litter of three). I couldn't figure out why the mother cat was hissing at this corner and (thankfully) I didn't rummage through the mess she was hissing at. I feel faint just thinking of how that might've transpired.
Anyhow, when I had safely moved to my bedroom, after hours of sitting about a meter away from where the creature was dozing under a pile of fallen junk mail, the mother cat decided to attack. I heard a commotion and opened my bedroom door and saw the mother cat fighting a snake. I didn't think it would be a cobra. A king cobra. But I knew from its size it was probably dangerous. So I closed the door. I breathed in, opened the door again, hunted throughout the house for the three baby cats and scooped them up. Scooped up the hefty uncle-cat, hunted for the mother who was all bristles and claws; but no, my arms were full. Uncle-cat likes his fish a bit much. Deposited kittens and hefty uncle-cat into my bedroom, opened the door AGAIN, and exited my room, careful not to let out any of the felines in my room, hunted for the mother cat, scooped up mother cat, put her into my room, exited the bedroom AGAIN to go to the room next to mine where the home phone was (at the time I was not even in my pre-teens yet and the 2^nd millennia had not started. Cellphones were a luxury selected people had. My father had one.) and frantically dialed my father's number. The phone rang in his bedroom. He had left the phone at home.

 
So there's a snake loose in my house, a room full of various aged felines safely tucked away, and I had to wait at least another hour for my parents to return from work. Where do I choose to wait for them? Perched on the sofa a meter and a half from where I saw mother cat tussling with the snake. Genius. I'll spare you the details of how the creature was finally caught. But the snake guy said pretty much the same thing the wildlife guy said. We were lucky we didn't encounter the mother king cobra. They are daaaaayyyyyuuuuuuummmmmmmm fierce. The one found in my house was an adolescent male, and was more prone to hiding away rather than confrontation. How it managed to slither into the house, we still do not know to this day.

 
Back to our current day excitement, the wildlife guy that came said that behind our office is apparently their natural habitat. And chances are there are scores of families living in the small wilderness behind us. I probably sound like I live in a remote village where chickens roam free and children don't wear shoes when they play outside. May I assure you, the only chickens you will find here, are ceramic decorative ones, or the unfeathered carcasses you keep in your freezer.

 
My colleagues started panicking, refusing to go to the pantry (nearest to the back door where the babies were found), asking for a state of emergency to be declared, regretting all those times they parked their car in the alley near the "wilderness".

 
Me? I'm sitting here eating a vanilla cream bun.

When the little dimes matter.

 
Have you ever come across this sign before?

 

 
    So I was on the bus the other day, and these two men (foreigners in my country) boarded. I took very little notice of them (shame on me) as there were plenty of other people getting on the bus as well. I only took note that one of them sat next to me and I felt slightly (read: very) uncomfortable at the odor he was emitting and the fact that there was plenty of vacant seats on the bus, and I felt of all the choices of seats, he should have the courtesy to choose one next to his same gender. He was dressed as a man of faith, therefore shouldn't he uphold the boundaries of proximity between man and woman? Not that I'm such a glorified pious creature, but if you had a choice to sit elsewhere, why would you squeeze up to me? I could hear the shallow parts of my human nature creeping up. You stink, you are reaping off the benefits of being in our comfortable country, and you refuse to admit your place in this society. You claim the equal rights of the native citizens, and yet you do not adhere to our common courtesies. I catch myself in between. They are people too. If I condemn them to stereotypes, then how am I better than those pigeons I preach to be of greater intellect and wisdom.
    Irritated as I was, I tuned my ears to what was happening. Apparently the man had gotten into a tussle with the bus driver. You see, the busses display the sign above prominently. I rarely ride the bus, but I am familiar enough with the policy. If the fare is 2.50, but you only have 3, then you'll just have to part with the extra 50 cents, unless the driver so happens to have change on hand, which is entirely at his liberty to dispense (or not). However, perhaps this man and his friend had not encountered this phenomenon and had always either:

1. Had the exact amount of bus fare (therefore not needing change)
2. Been given change (again, it is at the discrepancy of the bus driver)

In this case, the man had paid for both himself and his friend, coming up to a whopping fare of 2 bucks. However, he only had a fiver on him and he put this into the fare box, which looks something like this:

(ignore the photo caption..that has nothing to do with me)

 
As you can see, there is no way for the driver to claw out the change, and it was pre-stated that no change will be given. So technically, the driver is right in ignoring this man's pitiful pleas and whines to be given his change. And man, did this fella know how to whine. In his defense, he probably doesn't know much of our local language, and he was reduced to repeating the amount of his supposed change again and again to the unwelcoming ears of the bus driver.
    From where I stand (or sat, rather), I was irritated at this man's bodily odor, at his incessant whining and repetition, at his feeble attempt to gather support from the other commuters, at his sitting next to me when there were other vacant seats available, at the bus driver's absolute refusal to listen to his pleas. But I imagine what it must be like for the bus driver. This is probably not the first time he is encountering this. He works long shifts with people who refuse to pay, try to sneak in for a free ride, people who get on then after 10 meters discover that the bus is not passing where they are headed, people who insist on getting down at the most impossible spots. Now here's just another nameless, faceless person who is trying to get change when change cannot be given. Yes, he could wait for other passengers who pay in small change, and give it to the whining man. But between his long shifts, the rain, oncoming traffic, the various other passengers' antics, why would he care at this point?
    I think then at what must be going on in the foreigner's head. He's away from relatives and his homeland, come to this (comparatively) prosperous country to earn a living. He probably lives in a cramped up abode with 14 others of his nationality. If he's "lucky", he's only trying to make a living for himself here. Otherwise, he might be trying to scrape together money to send home to a family who depends on him for their livelihood. Every dollar, every cent, counts. These people are abundant in this country because they are willing to work for very minimal pay; something that the locals are not. I remember a time when losing 10 cents sent me scavenging on the bus floor and being so very worried when I couldn't find it. And yet, I have never had to worry whether or not I would have food to eat, or if I would have a roof over my head. Not even worry if somebody else would take up my sleeping space if I happened to be home late. I make (at least) triple what this man makes, and I know the value of a lost dollar. I still think of what I could have spent on with that lost 3 bucks. What more this man, who can't even afford to have his clothes appropriately washed and dried (hence the odor).

 
    The man makes this feeble attempt to garner the support of an adjacent passenger. But the person is of a different nationality (still a foreigner), speaks much better local language, and quickly understand the situation. But he is impatient. He tells of the whining man "It is your own fault. Who asked you to drop in the money when the driver told you not to?" The whining man returns his gaze to his friend, and injured, helpless look in his face. His friend gets up, walks up to the driver, and tries to plead by calling on the name of the Almighty. The driver says that if he insists on getting his change, that he follow the driver back to the depot and settle the issue there. He radios in the problem to the HQ, and I hear HQ telling him the same thing. The two men look at each other. Their stop gets nearer and nearer.
    When a rather larger group of passengers board the bus, the whining man next to me gets an idea. He pleads the newer passengers to give him his precious change. The dazed, confused people react differently. Most of them ignore him. But one man, confused, looks up and hands him the cash. The bus driver puts out his hand, stops the man and insists all the new passengers drop the fare into the box. The man repeats his plea "3 dollars….3 dollars…" he says to them, showing them his tickets. Most of them understand what has happened, but it is not of their concern. They know the ways of the bus, and it is probably not their first time seeing this scenario. They drop their fare into the box, get on the bus, and the man next to me continues his chant. I almost feel sorry for him. I'm short on cash this month (aren't we all, on all months?), but I'm sure I would survive if I gave the man the money he so wanted. I contemplated this option. Yes, he needed the money more than me. Yes, I could afford it. But what message was I going to send? That the driver was wrong in not giving him his change? That I was on his side? How would others perceive my act? How would it impact the driver?

 
I was far too deep in my thoughts, and the two men reached their destination before I could make up my mind. They were clearly unhappy. Before getting off, the silent friend stood next to the driver, lifted his hands in prayer and recited some chants. This irked the driver even more. The bus stopped. The men got off.

 
The scene ends, the credits roll up. But there is so much unsaid, so much unthought-of.

How does one describe feelings?

    Everything is so loud, and somehow the noise feels heavy. They weigh down on my eyelids, they force all my muscles down. Movement feels painful. The noise is deafening. I guess it could be like when Superman got his super-hearing abilities, and it overwhelmed him and he had to find a way to tune it so that all the noise didn't drive him crazy. I can hear everything, yet nothing. I can feel the rushing of my own blood, but not the way a vacuum sounds, more like crackling of static. When I sit, I can feel the blood bend and swerve to fit my shape. It hurts. The most I can do to drown out all the noise is to blast the mp3 so that at least it only one sound I have to hear. But it doesn't take away the noise. I can still feel it there, but I just can't hear it. The weight is still there. I can feel it, it's just a slight relief that the noise isn't there. It's like knowing someone is in the room, watching you, but you don't turn around to look at them; you just feel them watching you. Except, the staring is heavy. The weight is so great. When people try to speak to you, you have to push through the noise and hear out what they say. You try to make sense of it, but it often doesn't make sense. You can answer all the functions easily enough, because it's in your programming. They could ask you what 2+2 is and you'd be able to answer, though speaking in itself is extremely painful. But if they asked you abstract questions "Are you ok?" "Do you need anything?" all you can do is try to conjure up the strength to look at them; but even that takes up a lot of energy. Energy you don't have because you have to move about with this immense weight about you. You can feel yourself being buried alive, in your own thoughts. But they're not only your own thoughts, you can almost hear everyone else's thoughts, except they're not theirs, it's yours but in their voices. You think of the various possibilities, and it becomes noisier and noisier and you're pushed to this corner of silence because all the other noise is so overwhelming.

It’s important to have that in between.

 

    I'd wait at the sidelines, while you whizzed around and around. It would be hot and I'd get sticky and icky. I'd buy a cool soda and sip it quietly under the cool shade. You'd walk up to me and I'd look up at you. I'd smile and tell you how much you stink. You'd tell me I'm the one whose mouth needs a washing. I'd punch you in the arm and take a sip of my soda.

 

 

    I slept lightly, waiting for you to call. It was you who wanted to go there. It was your affair. Doesn't it make sense that you are the one who should initiate contact? Not enough that I'm giving up my time for you, doesn't it occur to you to make sure that I too have a good time? Why am I dumped with all these expectations of what you want? Make up your mind. Tell me what you want, or what you need. Ask me what is most convenient for me. Is that so hard to figure out?

    I waited the whole of yesterday and this morning for you to make arrangements; out of which you didn't. Then you ask where I am and I'm like, wth??? You didn't tell me I had to go there. You didn't tell me you wanted me to bring you there. What do you expect me to do? I'm already giving up my precious sleep time for you, for something you want, and then you expect me to read your mind and know what you expected of me?

 

 

    You'd be tapping on your computer, frowning at the screen. I'd come up from behind and ask you what you're doing. You'd mumble some distant answer, and tilt your head slightly back so it's closer to me. I'd bury my face in the curve of your neck and mumble back. We spend several minutes just mumbling at each other. I'd ask if you wanted a drink, your face would light up and nod to me, yes. I'd look at you and say you should go get it then. You'd reach back and pinch me at the waist.

 

 

    Seriously, enough with the emotional blackmail. What sort of idiot do you take me for, after all these years of you employing the same tactics to string me along and make me go with your schemes, do you honestly expect me to still fall for it? You think I don't know how you plant those seeds so he'll say those things? You want me there, then you give me incentive to be there. And I'm not talking about all the material crap. I can provide those for myself. If you have nothing but material comforts to offer, then you have nothing to offer me. Therefore, unless you specify exactly what you expect of me, then I'm just going to pretend I don't know what you want and ignore your existence.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I'll just curl up and die here, thank you very much.