Life Thoughts Before My Burger

Friday evening, I’m sitting alone in the apartment feeling quite unloved and unattractive when the phone rings.  Hurray!  Unfortunately it is a charity I used to subscribe to, asking why do I not subscribe to them any more????  So I now feel unloved, unattractive and reminded of my destitution.  Party in mine!!!

Lilsister’s wrist and hand is healing nicely, if you count the giant red scars and bubbling blisters she likes to show me most evenings.  She celebrated getting some feeling back in the area by washing her hair last night, something she could no longer avoid doing, it had been many days now and the birds were looking to nest in it.

She finds herself in Belfast tonight, with Scarydancer partying it up in his friend’s house, leaving me alone tonight, and sober.  I have considered drinking my bottle of wine but not sure I’m in the mood yet.  Besides, I am 98% certain that I will be driving to Mcdonalds in a while to treat myself to burger, chips and ice cream sundae happiness.  That should REALLY help with my unattractiveness.

Finished my weird Serbian novel last night, the stoned hero stopped doing weed and found himself in a transendental well, inbibing the Kabbalist spirit of a Jewish man that had died many hundreds of years before, and then finding a friend of his dead, and fleeing the city.  I must admit, I am quite lost.  I presume this is a tragic ending, but I don’t really know why.  My head hurts.

Have also been making Life Decisions over the last few days.  Will bite the bullet and do my financial exams, so I can start looking for a job that pays a wage sufficient to cover the cost of a glass of wine on the weekends, as my current role does not.  I may have previously mentioned my hatred of the Institute of Bankers, and that continues unabated, but without sitting their silly exams I cannot even apply to do the work I used to do, and must then starve by the wayside, and as a single 37 and three quarter year old woman with no prospects, this simply will not do.  So I am, with a heavy heart, shelling out SIX HUNDRED euro to sit two MODULES – not the whole thing, as I am not a millionaire, then grasping around my purse for more pennies as I first have to ”register” with the ever friendly institute, and pay fifty euro I think for THAT privilege, then pay again to sit the bloody exams in the first place!!!  I seethe, and burn, and rage quietly.

If I pass these exams I will celebrate by obtaining a normal paying job, and purchasing a man to pretend to be my boyfriend at all the social events I will then be invited to.  See, I have it all worked out.

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Spicy Pork Chops Interrupt Serbian Mysteries

I’m TRYING to have an intellectual night in my room by blogging, listening to Madonna’s possibly best album (Ray of Light – it transends, people) and getting my brain ready to tackle the last few pages of my Kabbalist inspired mystery type story by the Serbian writer whose name I cannot spell (except the David part) which has been written without the benefit of paragraphs, so is just hundreds of pages of block text, and is quite difficult to follow.  Brilliant, but fuck do you work for it.  However never let it be said that it does not contain one of my most favourite lines ever in a book – our hero, being completely stoned and looking around for something in a kitchen, kneels down, and peers into something, where he tells me he felt ”my brain touch my forehead on the inside.”  This is fantastic, and should be a medical description of all self induced highs, be they drug, alcohol or naturally attained.

Anyway, here I am preparing myself for the superior onslaught of writing far better than I will ever achieve in my non-career, when Lilsister calls me from her mobile phone, worryingly, as I had left her in the living room ironing only moments before.  Do I want spicy pork chops for dinner tomorrow, she asks.

I don’t know, I reply, because I like mashed potatoes with my pork chops, but Scarydancer is cooking tomorrow, and he doesn’t like mash, and if he makes anything else it won’t be right.

What is Scarydancer putting with the chops, I ask, and Lilsister says she doesn’t know.

We both ponder a little in the silence.  I decide to throw caution to the wind.  Okay, I say.  Sure lash on the pork chops.

He’ll figure something out, she says back.

Where are you, I ask.

In bed, she says.

In the next room?  I ask.

Yes, she says.  I couldn’t be bothered getting out to ask you and Scarydancer is going to defrost the chops first thing in the morning so he had to know now.

Oh, I say.  That’s fairly lazy of you.

Yeah, she says.  But it’s Monday.