Sorry for all the sand.

I have decided to issue a public apology for all the sandstorminess in our dust bowl. It so happens that every time I plan to go out to meet my clients who work out on the horrizontal speck of a plane in the distance- a sandstorm rears it fluffy head. So, so sorry.

Half Life Crisis

It's not a quarter life crisis anymore. When you are 25, half of your life is actually how much of it has whooshed by you already. It may be the modern era of many a medical discovery, but it also is one fast paced world that is progressing towards moving in fast-forward-momentum and if a brick is going to squash your head while you walk under a construction site, be assured it will fall down at you faster and harder than before. There is no reason for this, like the crop circles have no satisfying explanation.

I am doing everything I can to come to the terms that I need to roll over my current personality and induce a heart attack of a change within me. I have cropped my hair, deactivated my facebook account and considering becoming a buddhist; but that shiver of feeling change is not running creepily down my spine. I am still questioning my choice of career, my addiction to mint tipped toothpicks and the lackadaisical attitude that spurts out of me whenever a serious issue commands me to react. The yawns are deeper and the sentiments are only the shimmering glazed surface that can be seen. The influences keep hurtling at breakneck speed towards you, and there is so little time to analyze before reaction and there are so many contradictory ideas that settle in the bowl of comprehension, one big melee of modern madness. Never thoguht I'd hear myself say this, but I'd like to be some years older now.

long winding sentences

they stretched all that they had curtailed to allow my world of daring pleasures according to the convenience of conventions, to me it was my world of explorations that the weak and narrow minded avoid as they are not strong enough to reign over their subconscious. They had to adhere to it, as they never ventured to touch the barriers to see they were imaginary. i listen to the wind disturb the trees and the rain coming in and it calms my intoxicated soul. then the plastic sound of a grocery bag crashes the calm to earth again. I switch on the yellow night light and pick up a notepad. The cat runs out the door chased by the plastic bag that has caught up with her hind leg. The scratchy sound of the pencil against paper soothes me more that the rat-tat-tat of the keyboard, the mount of venus against paper not plastic...... times have changed, and we have along with it. I had read earlier on M's scrap book a line I had entered some 5 years ago. People change and forget to tell each other.

Guilt sits easy on my left collar, playing with my mind as if it were a PS3. I immediately feel awful. I know the answer is lurking in the silence. i wait for it to materialize. i wait for the sudden rustle of the wind to whisper it to me, i wait. i fall asleep, waiting.

Even the mosquitoes move in slow motion. The humidity teases the skin, and the sweat just stays a millisecond below the pores. The power cuts make the air heavier, and it seems like everytime the lights go out something stretches out from the darkness and engulfs all the oxygen. Then while it waits for the darkness to swallow up the village again, it retreats to the inundated gutter on the farther side of the narrow two way road.
I met God today amidst retched gold decor and gory depictions of some obscure unbelievable phase of the bible on the chapel walls. The hymns sung were in another language booming out of two jarring speakers. God is deaf. Or he will be soon, I thought.
I looked at him sitting beside me, flipping pages of the little leather bound book; lips moving faster than I knew his unspectacled eyes could see. I tried not to stare as I studied the creases around his eyes and the slight patch on his skin of something denoting senility and immediately felt guilty about nothing apparent.
I led my thoughts away; to the old pictures I'd found. To the flowers I wanted to put on my long passed away dog, to the pictures I wanted to click. I closed my eyes to imagine it, just in time to not see the lights go out again. I took a deep breath.

The Long Way to the Objective Plane

Keeping into account the thoughts your rage spews- these are the cons of what you are thinking about.

The excuses your slothful lethargy and compacency disgorges- these are the pros.

Think about it when you are drunk. or PMSing. That's how you feel about it.

Then weigh these all down when you are completely neutral and unbiased by any of the above moods, and that is your answer.

Being Pissed off and Working

Management will always be absolute F%$#ers with a bold capital F. They f%$# us around and we f$#@ those people who we manage. A vicious cycle of Karma perhaps, but those are the rules.

Since I was blackmailed and bribed by the company to stay back, I've been trying to mount the work horse again and giddyup. It's difficult to love both the work and the clients, but hate the management and the system. It's tough when you are pumped up to work and your boss does a typically dumb-boss thing, and you get too pissed off to work. You try to rationalize with your rage that it's your target at stake and your clients you may loose, but it's not easy to care for something that will allow those assholes to enjoy the fruit of your labour.

Right now, I just want to set up my own freakin office and open up a business with innovative and creative solutions for office ambience, layout, styles. Anyone with loads of experience wanna partner up with a fresh, raw and hopeful mind?


If not, oh just F%$# the corporate world, Biiiiiatch. So, if any of you managers have treaded paths with this blog, really- don't be the jackass that you truly are deep inside. Put on a loving facade, slap on a caring smile and blab off two sugar coated lies about why we can't have it. It'll work better then taking away hope.

What it's like to work Saturdays....

I've plugged in some u2 in my ears to block out the silence. It's so quiet to work on a saturday that you could hear a pin drop on a Persian carpet. My colleagues heady perfume is probably the loudest thing that could happen today.

But honestly, I don't mind working Saturdays.

Trudging out of bed at 9. Empty roads on the way to work. Pajamas. Donut. The fact that I can stay how long I want to makes me want to work faster, longer. Everythng is to the point - Spewing out this post. That facebook message. The bid. The calls to the client. Sharp. Cut to fit. I'm not obliged to stay here, so I'm actually doing it willfully and efficiently. It's unique to be one of the few to have a purpose today and feel productive at the end of the day. So Tally ho, hoes; I be whistling away at work! :-)

Thursday Night

Already buzzed like a buggaboo

picking up another bottle

in case blogs get checked, i... uh... may be in another country hoo ha.

Friday Worthy

I hate the monotony of regular days when life turns into a drone. You do the same things over and over again that you cannot landmark your days as they all seem the same, living a repetitive series of Deja Vu. I was afraid Friday would be like that but it was one of the most wonderful weekends I've had here.

We went to the Animals Friends League in the morning (by which I mean half past 11) and were engulfed by these bounding, happy smiles all wrapped up in innocence. I was frolicking with four legged bundles of joy!!!!! We just had the wholesome goodness of pure innocent fun with floppy ear-red fluff balls! We just hung in the courtyard and got out a couple of dogs it was so cool, just chilled out there until someone dragged me out kicking and screaming! I found the love of my life, his name is Ninja and he was shorter than the blades of grass!!!!! :-)

Sometimes you need something pure and real to get you back to the ground. People who don't have pets probably go for a confession, and people who have no pets and aint christian probably try to get it from nature- a pure cleansing ritual. Not all of us have at least one of these options. And now, since I feel like sounding like an advertisement, AFL is the answer. Hah but it was, we left some 3 odd hours later, happy, fuller people, grateful that there was a corner in this country where you could feel real again.

In the evening, we went to the Kuwait Riding Centre in Sabhan. There was a horse jumping tournament that we almost completely missed because I was lost in the stables speaking to those sturdy enormous horses in puppy language. There was more than 50 horses, and I hear the owners spend 150 KD per month to keep them here. The horses are imported from various places, but especially Europe. There was a fantastic crowd and after the race was over there was a little get together with the Kuwaiti singer and this guy playing the " Oudh" (sp?) while everyone feasted on food from Mais Alghanim.

If clubbing was legal here, I would have been a hungover vegetable to have the best animal day ever!

I facebooked him, then I yahooed his ass and finally friggin googled him to pieces.

How can you not manage to exist! How will I find you again?

The Destruction Of Man

I don't know how I am going to brush this up into what I wanted it to look like, but this here is the gyst of it. Perceive at will.

Dusk on a Weekday

There is nothing like it. To float in the lukewarm ocean and stare at the sky on a weekday. From the corner of my eye, I see the sun spraying out violent colors of yet another sunset. The beach is empty save for a couple of people far enough away to be just specks, and not people. Cradled by a bed of water, I hear something plop by my left ear. I don't quite care, I'm just singing out loud every second song that comes to my mind and floating there, face to the gods, watching the cottonball sky gradually drench with dark.

I look towards my friend, and he is far out in the distance flopping around making like a dolphin and trying to impress some imaginary girl in the distance. I swim over but halfway through realize that the stamina of a smoker is not the most dependable. It wasnt funny at all to realize it was deeper than the whole 5'7' of me and that my underdeveloped and unrehearsed poodle paddle wasnt keeping me up too long. My buddy wades over, in slow motion that I can only conclude was deliberate, and pitches me towards the shore, afloat on my own again. It's dark and I'm beginning to itch. We fathom those little jellyfishies exiled a disobedient tentacle that passed us by as we trudge out of the water and drape our drenched selves over the beach chairs. Night is falling and tummies start growling. Time to leave the Shaab Beach Club and seep into the snail paced traffic of Gulf Road, blending into one of everyone else; in a hurry to get from somewhere to somewhere else. The engine revs.

Sky and Sea and Solitude.

I have Coldplay droning in my ears loud enough to drown the spastic cackling secretary. There is nothing to concentrate on except trying not to fall asleep. Right now, I belong out there, in the world, in an animated suspended laboratory that experiments how to make something new and invisible. Boxed in a windowless office with a stereotypical designation; instead of unfurling as the potential Fluff Roller or Pin Spinner that I could have been. Given titles; mere syllables that have drawn boundaries around what we want to do and where we think we can go.

I want to go to the beach right now and just float in the water. Sky Starer. Sea Sleeper. Silent Slusher. My friend just called to say he'd pick me up, and I'll give him one minute to be convinced to go swim at the cheap ass place next to the Corniche :-]

Gangre(e)ned my Brains.

Thoughts slurred, before they melted. Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Dripped into fast forward motion then into a tumultuous and stormy cauldron and in the blink of an eye; hypothesis and suppositions put in came out as full grown concepts.

I'd like to die now please

Nope, I don't think I am jinxing myself if I joke about death. You do? Then you need to take out that coconut tree that is stuck up your ass and live a little more relaxed. Death is just the end as WE know it. And we don't know jack.

I am so saturated with this square life right now and my inabilities to be a human being that I would like to throw my ass in Baghdad City wearing a "Baghdaddy" print T-shirt. Or go stand on the emergency lane on the 6th ring road and get run over by a cop car. Maybe dive too deep and get nitro narcosified! The interesting options are endless. How about getting tied to a 241 helium balloons? Why not 240, you ask? That coconut tree is still corked in your ass then.

(((((This post actually reminds me now of the Book of Bunny Suicides, an absolute must have. Ingenious ways for fluffy bunnies to die by Andy Riley. He wrote a sequel and some other interesting titled books that probably won't have him contemplate suicide without a will.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/comedy/hyperdrive/))))

My next post is going to be on possible stress relievers while you are at work that give you results in a few minutes. They may be products I will create in the next five minutes and sell to you for 5.050 K.D apiece

Number

I was going to write a livid post about life and why on earth do the consequences of procrastination have to be so bloody awful but I changed my mind. My phone just dinged (pronounced like winged) and it was a message from this boy. Anybody who isn't two years older than me is automatically not a man yet.

So it's this pretty boy who I met at this crazy party Thursday night. It was the final leg of the party... after we found the place, after everyone got pretty smashed, after the cops came, after I realized my friend had lost me and after pretty boy returned her to me at Z's place. Thats when pretty boy asked me for my number and I was more taken aback that I gave it to him. I've dated guys like him before and I know he aint my type. Could I be so shameless to give him my number just for the tease of it? The only part that fascinated me at all is the initial chase. Or maybe we women should call it the initial flee. Playing that game is simply regressing to being neanderthal in an innate way.

Addictions

It's right here. In front of my minds eye. The awareness of this addiction. So obvious it could be a giant pink dolphin flipping around the foreground of my mind.

I tell myself it's no big worry. I flippantly told myself the same thing when I started smoking, but I've never quit. I tried to; but I didn't. It's fun sometimes to amuse yourself by teasing your mind like an elastic rubberband. Giving it some and then taking it away; only to see how much it cant take. It's more amusing then messing with the putty the guy who sits next to me has for a brain, thats for sure. I just don't know how I would know if the elastic snapped, or if it already did. Oh well, as long as it feels like an entertainment park in my head, I assume it's alright. Right?

This new addiction of mine; I need to cut the little bastard sapling now before it grows into an ogre shaped oak tree. The only way I think I might have any success is by replacing it with another. Namely, this, my clogspot. I don't know if it is going to work, but I'm sure I'll let you know. If I end up addicted to both, we'll figure out a way to integrate the two.

So influenced. So addicted. So pathetic.

I'm going to have to deactivate that darn facebook account.