Call it a spot of bad luck, a crisis of the corporeal body, an emergent clumsiness erstwhile concealed in the obscure depths of my personhood and being — I have been involved in far too many minor accidents, of late. I spilt Korean tea all over my desk, had my shaving razor slip to slice my fingertip, scalded my hands with near-boiling water, and soon I shall expect to trip over a small student-child while teaching in school. They are tiny but consequential.
Running parallel to these incidents of maladroitness is the strangely foul mood I have been in for the entire month. Well maybe not foul, just a general grumpy feeling that I will shrug off as symptoms of dehydration and mercury poisoning.
Also: I want to use this space to congratulate everyone who's currently in Europe making snowballs while I am being rained upon by truly half-assed monsoons that only last for one weekend.
Also: I know my parents love me and etc. but they are going to spend two vacations in a row (to faraway lands that make accessorising with scarves a necessary part of everyday life) without me and this reveals how they trivialise my separation anxiety issues + desire to be free + desire to get a billion more desires granted.
Also: It has dawned on me that I made my own birthday cake and finished it all by myself and then felt bad about hogging it which is a clear indication of the direction my life is going (alcoholism). Should I distract myself with other bad habits? e.g. feigning Tourette's?
I need to write better. If writing is a muscle then I am currently an airy cupcake with silly frosting/dense gluten-free muffin with quinoa flour and popped amaranth.
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