Animal Hospital - A Safe Place

Be patient.  Wait for for 03:22.

No skipping.

 

So just a couple minutes ago, I woke up to hear R screaming at J in the kitchen for removing her pot of spaghetti to light his cigarette on the electric stove top.

You see, what he did interfered with her tight schedule (she was in a hurry), slowing down the boiling process of the pasta.  

...Of course misusing the stove and smoking in the apartment would be beside the point.

::smiles wryly::

Giselle Rosselli - They Stay Down Deep

What's that you pressed against your lips,
some sailored words on conjured ships.

Leaves lie discarded against the cold concrete, withering to dirt, as their owners proudly display their bare branches, newly studded with rain drops from the night before.

Titling your head a little, you watch as they glitter against the grey sky.

On a more random note, I would like to say that I have utter faith in Mrs. Piggle Wiggle's methods for reforming children. 

Provided that I have any in the future--as the prospect of reproducing is still terrifying to me at the tender age of twenty (I am still quite very young, you see)--I will be sure to use her as a source of inspiration and a guide for success.

So lately I've taken to drinking coffee (not black) in times of distress.

(Curiously enough, my caffeinated comfort drink makes me sleepy--I'm still trying to figure out how that can be.)

I like savoring the bitter sweet taste in my mouth as I brood in my little corner of the room, buried beneath my heavy blankets, completely distracted from the textbooks that often lie open on my lap, pages unread.   

On the down side, it makes one's breath smell foul.

Well.  I suppose that's not necessarily a bad thing if you don't want people to talk to you--after all, brooding is a solitary activity.  Occasionally I feel like sticking a "Do Not Disturb" sign on my forehead because my housemates can be rather dense at times.

It was an unpleasant phone call, not one that we should have been having three weeks before he was leaving for half a year, and one day before coming up to Davis to stay for the rest of the week.

I've reached a new low, hiding in J's closet so that R wouldn't hear me cry.  But then again, even if I was more open about my raw displays of emotion, I don't think she would have noticed anyway--she's far too absorbed in her own trivialities to pay any attention to mine, much to my relief. 

It's a bit strange to be sitting on the toilet seat with your head pressed against the wall, wearing a mud mask that's dried your face into a perpetual expression of misery.

The burning sensation that indicates deep cleaning is somewhat of a comfort. 

However, I do realize that revitalizing your skin in such a way that exacerbates the despondency of what you're feeling during these melancholy moments isn't one of the best things to do, especially when someone else may want to use the bathroom that you've so selfishly holed yourself up in for the past half hour going cross-eyed staring at your feet. 

It happens to the best of us.