Today, I woke up hot. Not sexy hot (because I’m always that — wishful positive thinking), but hot hot. If you’ve been so unfortunate and bored as to follow my complaints about malfunctioning radiators, you’ll be surprised to hear this. I was surprised to feel this. At first, I thought I’ve grown tough and got used to being constantly at the brink of dying of exposure.
So I hopped off to take my morning shower, positively beaming with hotness, and as I reached for my towel, I burnt my hand on the radiator. This made me and the cat jump. What’s just happened? How has the radiator that was ice-cold like my heart yesterday become as boiling as my brain today? Have I taken one pill too many? Have I slept through winter and is it summer again?
It remains a mystery. The most logical explanation is that the radiator man who failed to come yesterday because he was playing Godot fixed my radiator remotely. I know it doesn’t make sense. If you have a more reasonable explanation, go ahead and tell me. Also, if you’ve sent me blankets, I’m good now. Instead, you can send thongs. If thongs are flip-flops for you, please send me European size 38, smart look. If thongs are panties for you, please give me size XS, cute look. Thank you.
Here’s the ultimate proof that I’m hot. I was practising my morning yoga barefoot. I am aware that yoga shall always be practised barefoot, but that doesn’t bar me from wearing toeless socks when it’s cold.
Yeah, I’m seriously interpreting the photo prompt solitude with a picture of three people. The couple was making out (the bastards stopped just before I snapped them) and the woman sitting at the bench was looking at them with apparent envy. Because solitude sucks. Sometimes.
Heyall (my autocomplete corrected heyall to Jerusalem, WTF was it thinking)! I have some news. I’m literally bloody dying here on so many levels (the autocomplete suggests a Bloody Mary).
One, my radiatorman is a Godot (I don’t know the word for the guy who does radiators). It’s the second time he promised to show up and was no-show. The bastard is reimbursing me for my electricity bill because my electrical heater is at full blast all day and night, since my regular radiators don’t work.
Two, I’m translating a contract concerning an extrusion line. Don’t ask me what that is. That’s to remain a mystery both to me and anyone who will read my translation. A sensible translation speed for a day’s worth of work is about seven pages. I’ve done fifteen in the last twenty-four hours and have fifteen more to go. Deadline tomorrow. Got the job yesterday. FML.
So what the heck am I doing here (besides dying)? Procrastinating. No, really, I just needed to stretch my legs. So I swung them on the window sill and am typing this in the mobile app again. I might even come to like it. Or hate it less.
If you’re knowledgeable in radiators, extrusion lines, legal English and legal Czech, or one of the aforementioned, come over. Now. Otherwise, send pizza and Oreos. Thanks. I’m off to die.
Today’s obvious photo prompt asks to connect. I did so on several levels. I shot a horror snap of railway tracks, railway being the literal means of connection. The snap was taken very early in the morning, which represents the connection between night and day. So clever, right? And no, of course I didn’t bother to get up at an impossible hour only for the sake of shooting a premeditated photo. I had to be up anyway and the snap was just opportune. Or random, to be more exact.
When someone declares they’re blessed, it triggers the worst in me. I can’t make myself believe the authenticity of such a bold statement and I can’t help doubting the claimant’s sound sense.
Unfortunately, this photo challenge goes with the mainstream flow and asks to deliver a photo of bliss. Let’s not reiterate that the experience of enjoyment is alien to me, and as to bliss, I know nothing.
I therefore documented what I hated the least recently, which was when I finally did my nails. I hate the activity of doing my nails, what a bloody bother, but I like the result of having my nails done.
Remember how I’m either too scared or too nonplussed to leave the flat? Well. I went out. I swear. The venture didn’t even require Lexaurin. Though I was tempted.
I strayed too far from my home and found nature. It’s alright but I’m no way experiencing anything transcendental and becoming a transparent eyeball.
Right NOW I’m sitting on a bench and too fucking exhausted to go back. Any tips? And no, there are no taxis. I’m so lazy to go back that I’m typing this in the mobile app to postpone the inevitable. Or maybe I’ll just sleep over here.
My cat does the usual catty things and some other things that might be catty or not but are, hands down, definitely crazy. My cat is my favourite person but, damn, she is so dumb. She didn’t take after me.
My five-year-old cat hasn’t yet discovered that her nails are retractable. She gets regularly stuck in the blinds, hanging there, meowing helplessly and waiting for me to disentangle her. Which I do but don’t fail to inform her how dumb she is and how it serves her right (my parents used to do the same to me, so I assume it’s good upbringing). It doesn’t serve my blinds right though.
The cat recently unlocked her jumping skills. She uses them to hang out at my bedside table. The miniature table is already occupied by a lamp and a cactus pot. It might seem that the cat is smart to squeeze herself on top of it but she’s really dumb because she keeps on swiping her tail around as she settles, sending dirt from the pot flying to my bed. Since I’m not (as) dumb, I was forced to move the pot. Cat hair in the bed is one thing but dirt is dirt, literally.
Apropos my cat’s supposed smartness in fitting at the bedside table, the other day I heard some noise and came on the cat slipping down from the top and trying to avoid the fall by holding on to the cacti desperately (both the cat and the cacti were desperate). Both the cacti and the cat escaped unscathed, but I came to doubt my cat’s intelligence even more.
My cat probably doubts her own intelligence too because she regularly gets stuck in a tight spot, where she remains illustriously calm, quiet and waits for me to discover her. Most recently, she got stuck between my oil radiator and the wall, right next to me. I spent forever looking for the little bastard, wondering whether she has flushed herself down the toilet or what. When I saw her, she growled and when I let her out, she ran to hide elsewhere. She’s so clueless that her cuteness is her only redeeming feature.