And now, all we need is a horrific headless apparition.
I haven't had much sleep for the past few days, not that you can blame me, really: my joints are prone to aching like you wouldn't believe, especially around this time of month; and to make matters worse, I've had some of the most fucked up dreams to date, one of which included bleeding out from my ear. God fucking damn it.
My family increasingly reminds me of why I should man the fuck up and move out: their habits are starting to eat away at my patience and for the most part, what I wouldn't give to punch their faces in because holy fuck, like every good AZN child, I must be good and humble and loyal to mi familia or I sleep at the bottom of the lake with them fishes. (Also, certain members of my family need to stop acting like we're part of the motherfucking Chinese mafia, seriously.) Fuck this shit too.
Of course, this doesn't mean the town is boring, per se, it's just that you need to know where to look. For instance, the other day, there was a brilliant display of apathy and callousness right outside my mother's workplace as bystanders quietly looked on as an accident took place right before them. A motorcyclist's leg was crusheh by the wieght of a car and his own motorcyle and the response of my fellow townspeople was not to dial the emergency services or anything, but to note down the motorcyclist's license plate number and go bet on it, seeing as how this number was somehow lucky and they'd strike it big. Kudos to the motorcyclist though, for having sufficiently large balls to calmly dial 911 himself.
And now, on to something slightly more interesting: a man recently hung himself in part of the Lake Gardens (ETA: The actual lakes have their fair share of drownings too, mother of god), where, well, I used to jog/run (I still do, on occasion). I don't think anyone knows for sure the reason for his suicide, although there have been mentions that he was involved with women of a particularly disreputable career, among other things. What I cannot fathom, however, is why hang yourself in such a public place, given the possibility of someone discovering you before you actually, you know, die? Perhaps there was a meaning or a message intending to be sent, but as they say, dead men tell no tales. And all I know now is that this'll just make my evening runs twice as creepy as they already were, which is just fucking awesome. Yeah, totally.
My family increasingly reminds me of why I should man the fuck up and move out: their habits are starting to eat away at my patience and for the most part, what I wouldn't give to punch their faces in because holy fuck, like every good AZN child, I must be good and humble and loyal to mi familia or I sleep at the bottom of the lake with them fishes. (Also, certain members of my family need to stop acting like we're part of the motherfucking Chinese mafia, seriously.) Fuck this shit too.
Of course, this doesn't mean the town is boring, per se, it's just that you need to know where to look. For instance, the other day, there was a brilliant display of apathy and callousness right outside my mother's workplace as bystanders quietly looked on as an accident took place right before them. A motorcyclist's leg was crusheh by the wieght of a car and his own motorcyle and the response of my fellow townspeople was not to dial the emergency services or anything, but to note down the motorcyclist's license plate number and go bet on it, seeing as how this number was somehow lucky and they'd strike it big. Kudos to the motorcyclist though, for having sufficiently large balls to calmly dial 911 himself.
And now, on to something slightly more interesting: a man recently hung himself in part of the Lake Gardens (ETA: The actual lakes have their fair share of drownings too, mother of god), where, well, I used to jog/run (I still do, on occasion). I don't think anyone knows for sure the reason for his suicide, although there have been mentions that he was involved with women of a particularly disreputable career, among other things. What I cannot fathom, however, is why hang yourself in such a public place, given the possibility of someone discovering you before you actually, you know, die? Perhaps there was a meaning or a message intending to be sent, but as they say, dead men tell no tales. And all I know now is that this'll just make my evening runs twice as creepy as they already were, which is just fucking awesome. Yeah, totally.