I am writing this not because I have nothing better to do. I have an insane amount of work and to say I am digressing from it would be profusely unfair. If I don't take the time off it, my head might end up exploding and brain splitter-splatter, leaving a mess that no one wants to clean up.
Today, a sweaty aunty brushed the happy drops of perspiration on my arm. The indignity of mass (not so rapid) transit.
Today, I wore white pantyhose and was carrying a cup of tea. The tea spilled on my pantyhose.
Today, among the many days, I am bombarded at work as if holding a fortress to fend away the enemies who own a biological weapon. The best part is that me and my men are only equipped with sticks and stones. And so, I await detonation with open arms, holding a stick on my left hand and a stone on my right, waiting to die.
Yes, the misadventures of everyday life.
I don't know how much longer I can keep on keeping on.
The storm doesn't seem to settle. The storm gets bigger and angrier turning into a monsoon, increasing the tides and flooding my sanity.
Yes, this is insanity but I am a pauper who can only afford writing as therapy. Fuck it. I'm broke in every aspect of my life.
If I were a superhero, I'd be super pauper.