The Mad World

• If you fuck it up, you just keep going. Whereas if you fuck up life…well…let’s not dwell on the maudlin.
• You are continually rewarded for your excellence in more tangible ways than ‘congratulations’ and ‘respect’.
• Other nerds might think you’re cool – it’s so hard to get in with the nerds nowadays, so you should grasp this opportunity with your clammy, fatigued hands.
• One day all of this knowledge will come in useful, for example at a subdued dinner party or in some sort of first-year postmodern literature class at UNSW when the lecturer runs out of analytical material on Harry Potter.
• Simpsons Trivia never gets drunk and storms into your room at 4am with an accordian, saucepans and inexpert singers.

That’s right. I’m still smarting.

Benefits:
1. Reliving private childhood wishes.
2. Getting most of the sand off (but beware, beach-dweller, if you don’t have a proper shower afterwards you will come to KEENLY REGRET your actions).

Problems:
1. Subhuman screams which may lead to Problem 3.
2. Intense hose nozzle pressure.
3. Nosy neighbours.

Considerations:
1.  How public is this hosing? If it is in your back garden, and you’re surrounded by shrubbery, and only your blood relatives are watching (the non-judgemental ones) – you may be ok.

May your hose-down adventures be as fruitful, frolicking and delicious as my own.

I’m waiting for a plane

It’s taking very long

There’s lots of children losing their shit

I think I’m going to die. 

There’s a child screaming like some sort of tropical bird. There are people all around me tut tutting. And here I am, typing in the dimming sun, backed against a window, so I can see my fuzzy little profile against the reflected screen. 

I have been waiting for this plane for two hours and now it’s here. My difficult little friend! My sullen travel partner! You haven’t forgotten me! You will whisk me up, gather me in your severe steel arms, transport me and my dozing friends to a better, warmer, tastier place. 

Thank you Late Plane. I appreciate it. I am being quiet and polite and kind to you because I know you could fuck things up for me. Your wheel could break off, or your toilet could clog, or an eagle could fly into your engine and go “BANG SPLAT PHWOOOOOOOORG GLUG GLUG GLUG” and I’d be here even longer, typing and tutting, sighing and waiting, counting down the seconds until my holiday begins.  

Thank you and god bless you, Late Plane of Glory. We’ll talk again when I’ve touched down.

I love pelting rain

Except when my ceiling drips

Which it always does.

It always does. It ALWAYS does. And you know what it did the other day? The rain came in sideways, sideways through my little sheltered window, the window I have come to like and trust and introduce to my friends as “a really well situated window since rain never comes through it, wow, I shouldn’t say that in case I jinx myself and one day rain actually does go through it, oh oh. Oh oh”.

OH OH INDEED.

My paranoia paid off because I was wrong, and it’s okay, I’m happy to admit it. I AM HAPPY TO ADMIT TO MY MANY GROSSLY EMBARASSING ERRORS WHICH CONTINUALLY PLAGUE ME IN MY ATTEMPT TO LIVE A CALM, NORMAL LIFE.

I just wish it hadn’t rained onto my keyboard since I am currently witnessing the gradual breakdown of all that is well and good in the world, in other words – my k key doesn’t work and also my i is a little bit funky.

Don’t ask me how I manage to type with a k anyway; I will probably spout some stuff about positive visualisation and reimaging the self and maybe how to use keyboard shortcuts for commands like copy and paste, you mean you don’t know how to do that, n00b? What a n00b.

I also wish that haiku didn’t have a k in it.

Today I coined a new premise for a horror movie.

Spiders on a Toothbrush. Because that is what is freaking the fuck out of me right now. Let me set the scene. 

I’m standing in my bathroom, rereading the same awful comic strips which adorn the walls when I see it. It’s one of those spiders with kneecaps, kneecaps which bend and twist and turn and possibly propel it into the air and maybe into my mouth.  

I freeze, mid-brush. Through a minty, foaming mouth I ponder what to do.  

Do I spit and run? 

No. The spider’s too near the sink; it might latch onto my scalp when I lean forward and start laying tiny caviaresque kneecap spider eggs.  

Can I spit from afar?  

It’s risky. What if I miss the sink and have to clean Colgate Total Triple Guard off the floor for ten minutes – a real kick in the guts considering my objective is to get the hell out of this teeming arachnid den as soon as possible. 

I get an idea. How about I try to force the foam to the side of my mouth, breathe in some air and then blow the spider back up the wall? It’ll be like a lame adaptation of Three Little Pigs.  

I blow onto the spider and the effect is immediate. It shrinks sullenly back onto the wall, its kneecaps spring shut, it rests on its little furry bum.  

But is it plotting its revenge? Maybe by squishing itself downwards it is regenerating its power; like when you’re launching a game of pinball.  

I back out of the bathroom, brandishing my toothbrush like a lime green spear in my clammy grasp. The spider has won again.