A Three-Hour Wait For The Doctor
Life has developed quite a routine.
I hope, with a kitchenette in my room, for this month at least I’ll eat out less.
Thankful for these developments.
Heavens I’m so tired.
What if I have to move out in April? I don’t have enough money to move, and I still want to maintain living in an ensuite master room with a bathtub.
Have been having this mad craving to create a minibar, with tequila and Cointreau for margaritas, rum for rum cocktails and whisky because I quite like sipping it neat. All these spirits to have with me in the bath, of course.
Usually when I pray, I find that if my prayers get answered, they are answered in some half-fucked kind of way. Very carrot-on-string-at-end-of-stick. Just non-starters. So what’s the point?
Just waiting for when it’s time to have breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Waiting, waiting, and waiting…
What are the things I could do with a 1L saucepan?
Make single-serve foods like hot oats, instant noodles. Once in a while one does get sick of cooking in bulk.
And yes, I do need one with a lid. And oven-safe.
I need a little narrow funnel. How am I going to pour the liquid into the little spray glass otherwise?
It’s a warm day today.
My body’s crumbling.
Being around my housemates and their family is such a drag. I wish I could have the whole flat to myself. And hire a cleaning company to clean out every nook and cranny to rid the place of as many insects as possible. Especially cockroaches. And ooh the stench.
(I have learnt, especially for a group of people who are proud of their odour, that an effective way to stake a place as one’s territory is to stink up the place with that odour so that others not of their “tribe” will keep well away from said place.
The flat smelled of lavender when I first viewed it…)
I mean, it’s only in these bigger properties where the master room would have a higher chance of having a bathtub. One-bedders aren’t outfitted like that.
This country is miserable, full of miserable people. Heavens, get me out of here.