Wednesday, April 12, 2006

Dirty hands

My dad pulled some strings and helped transfer me to CCTV's foreign language news department instead. This Chinese gig is getting to be better and better. Hail to the Communists. Isn't life grand?


"Why are you always trying to ignore me?" asked M. Biologique as he stopped me on the mezzanine, kicking a Nerf ball around with his hippie friends. (Evidently, it's the hackey sack of the visually-impaired).

Why am I trying to ignore you?! Are you stupid or just plain manipulative? Because you've made my life resemble anarchy in the third-world, you dirtbag!

"I'm not ignoring you," I smiled back sweetly. "Why would I be?"

Now he has me acting passive-aggressive! Think happy thoughts, happy thoughts! Manet, Matisse, Magritte; Mondrian and Monet. Manet, Matisse, Magritte; Mondrian and Monet. Manet, Matisse, Magr... Oh, screw it. I'm just a masochist.


Three more essays due in 18 hours. Energy drinks draining from my system. Must ... buy ... more. Head keeps falling back against the headboard. Apartment looks like an active crack den. Nose bled several times yesterday. Thought perhaps I contracted leukemia from the computer screen - mental reasoning obviously impaired. Napped for an hour, telling everyone the news:

"Hey, check out my sweet bruises. I have cancer."

Woke up slightly refreshed. Then panicked: "Oh my God! I've been diagnosed!" Soon realized the cast of Grey's Anatomy aren't actual doctors. Deduced brain was only now crawling out of limbo. Ashamed it took this long to figure out. Actually went in search of bruises.

Upstairs neighbours humping to emo. I hope they catch retard.

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