My life is one big Haruki Murakami novel.

#1386135: In which I drabble and vent, and drabble some more; So you could skip this post if you want.

Fuck you, Lennox. Fuck you.

Ah well, you know what?
It's not your fault my Lit paper was so shitty. Sorry.
:bro hug:
My own fault.
In retrospect, I should have read everything again.
Just one more time could have made all the difference.
In retrospect, I shouldn't have stayed up for so long.
Even after the epilepsy stint and years of meds, I treat my health like shit.

Retrospect is a bitch.

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In honour of botching up my Literature exam, and life treating me like a pile of crap for the past few days, I put on my headphones, played a 34 minute recording of a rainstorm, sat next to the window and looked outside like I was in a sad music video.

Yes I have a 34 minute long recording of a rainstorm on my iPod.
Why? Because fuck you that's why ASFGHJKKJFFHJK


-----------------

Thoughts toward the end of all the exams I've written this year:
- Screw this. Screw studying. I'm going to be a hippie.
- Hippies don't take baths. Ma and Papa will kick me out of the house.
- I'll sell my kidneys. No big deal.
- Maybe I'll finally accomplish my lifelong dream of becoming a croupier on a cruise ship.
- I'll raise sheep on a farm, somewhere in the hills. Sheep are fun.
- I'll practice karate and meditate in the Himalayas.
- But I like my room. ;_;

#1800-225-455: "The Horror...The Horror..."

???, ???, St. Martha's Hospital post-op ward, Sometime around morning.

You finally come around. The clock on the otherwise blank wall tells you it's been four days since the surgery, and the stiffness in your whole body tells you that this is the first time you've woken up since then. You try to to sit up and observe the surroundings. Pale blue hospital gown, the hypodermic needle in your wrist attached to the IV line, and pants. Thank goodness for pants.

Using the IV pole as a support, you manage to get out of bed and stand up on your feet and walk out of the ward. For somebody who literally hasn't consumed anything in a week, you are showing extraordinary superhuman abilities.

Something's wrong. The gigantic corridor is completely empty, save for yourself and your IV pole. Your only companion in :this: world, the IV pole. Where is the usual hustle and bustle? The agonizing screams from the patients? A hospital with no signs of life for miles around. Oh cruel irony.

You find your way out of the hospital building. No humans, no vehicles, nothing. Nada. Zip. It's as empty on the outside as it was inside.
As you turn around and begin walking back to the building, it bursts into flames. St. Martha's hospital, a 200 year old building of extreme importance, historical or otherwise, is now a towering inferno; there's smoke billowing out of the windows, and you hear a gas cylinder exploding somewhere in the distance. Since when do hospitals spontaneously combust? You are no doubt, shocked by the phenomenon, and hurriedly scuttle out of the hospital gates, and step out on to the sand.

Wait, what?

Your impeccable knowledge of geography tells you that there are absolutely no beaches in Bangalore; yet here you are: sand, waves, salty air and the occasional heap of dead seaweed. As soon as you put two-and-two together and realize you aren't where you thought you were anymore, you hear it. That unmistakable melody; the tune of imminent doom.

It's...It's...Wagner.


You're standing on an empty beach in a hospital gown, clutching your IV pole, and 'Rise of the Valkyries' is booming loudly in the background. Could you BE any more out of place?
It's pretty obvious, what's about to happen next. You can already see about a dozen American helicopters rising in the sky, and flying toward the beach. They plan to bomb the beach and then go surfing. You? You are petrified. Scared shitless. Literally.
Even your IV pole can't save you now.

Just then, like some last minute, poorly set up deus-ex-machina, time stops. The choppers are in suspended animation in the sky. The waves are stuck.
And the ground starts to rumble. Before you can even think "Oh hell. Not the crabs again!", the ground shatters and billions of crabs scuttle everywhere. Oh hell, not the crabs again.
The ground isn't sand anymore; it's crabs. Stalk-eyed, broad cephalothorax-ed and foaming at the mouth. You slip and land on your back, and the crabs engulf and swallow you, and you swallow some.

And everything goes blank.
-------------------------------------------

There's a lesson to be learnt here. Too much late-night war literature and films can be fucking horrifying before the exams.

#6u: Because I wanted a sample of my handwriting on my blahg.

It will get better, eventually.

#42738: No hope for humanity.

I am so angry right now, I could flush an entire box of orange tic tacs down the toilet.

Apparently, a while before I returned home from tuition, a couple of guys tried to fuck around with the bees that live in our tree. They left when my mum threatened to call the police on them, but returned later and destroyed the hive to get to the honey.

:Rant:
HOW DARE YOU MESS WITH THE BEES, YOU THICKHEADED NINCOMPOOPS!
HOW WOULD YOU LIKE IT IF I SET YOUR HOUSE ON FIRE BECAUSE I WANTED YOUR JAR OF CUT MANGO PICKLE?! GKL:KJHGFDSDGJKLKJHGFDS >:[
I HOPE YOU DIE SLOW PAINFUL DEATHS. MAY THE FLEAS OF A THOUSAND CAMELS INFEST YOUR ARMPITS!
:/Rant:

Okay, so Mum tells me they got stung and ran away. Small victory for the bees, considering their house was destroyed. Where will the bees go now? As of now, I can still see them on our tree, and I really hope they don't leave.
They're amazing little insects.
:[

Einstein [may or may not have; faulty sources] said, "If the bee disappears from the surface of the earth, man would have no more than four years to live."
Assuming he was right, humanity is sure as hell fucked.

#413: Just something that's been on my mind a lot lately.

It's alarming, how much flak a person will get for being different (excuse the cliche).

To the point where even listening to a different, unheard-of genre of music will have other people deem you a filthy hipster or a cave dweller.

[Caves are cool. Your argument is invalid.]

When did becoming carbon copies of everyone around you get cool?