Irritated to the max! My irritation could propably act like some changing magnetic field which would induce an electromotive force which drives an induced current around the atmosphere around me, charging it. The air is pratically crackling with my foul temper.

I am never ever fucking gonna sleep without my phone again. Why? Oh, because I just decided to, at 5p.m. today, check my inbox, and bam! 8 messages, one of which was from singyan who informed me that the postponed SS consultation was today. At 11 a.m.

URGH!

To compound matters, the bloody morons who were my dad's assistants apparently felt this huge, pressing need to announce their uber awesome departure and arrivals with a resounding slam of the door. CAN'T PEOPLE JUST CLOSE THE DAMN DOOR SILENTLY? IT'S NOT THAT BLOODY DIFFICULT! Coupled with a faulty bladder which becomes full every 30 minutes or so, we have on hand a slow-moving percussion and bad english, which everyone knows rankles me to no end.

To be fair, it's not so much bad english as it is slurred vowels and syllables with an affected English accent. If you can't speak English, please don't try to make yourself sound better by imitating a faux american accent, it sounds like a cat having a stroke. How difficult is it to properly pronounce, "May I ask if your unit at the SAIL is for SALE?"

In their tongues the contractions and drawn-out vowels sound the same, so it came out as "May I ask if yeur uu-neet at the sehl (sell) is for sehl (sell)?"

How on earth are you, training to be a property agent, going to survive in this world if you butcher property names and slur your pronunciation over the phone, causing your prospective customers to wonder what the bleeding ruddy hell is that obnoxious woman saying??

I think I mentioned bladders earlier on in this post. Everyone knows you're not supposed to flush plastics down the toilet right? Common sense. Large paper towels for drying off your hands is not exception. Toilet paper is completely different from paper towels! God, can't these people use whatever's left floating about the insides of their skull to realise that it they won't try to flush A4-sized paper whole down the loo, then they probably shouldn't try with paper towels?

To prevent the paper towel from choking the pipe, I had to fish it out and throw it in the bin. And then sterilise my hand.

To sum up a rather foul day, my parents decided that today, of all days, was an opportune moment to broach the subject of me opening up. My mother was floating about in her fantasies of having those picture-perfect families with smiling children and whatever those corny commercials show. Everyone knows commercials are out to suck your cash anyway, and they are, more often than not, total blatant lies, especially regarding skincare products.

Well, sorry, mum, but I'm not gonna play along. We're not gonna sit down an dhave a bloody heart-to-heart talk because all that will achieve is rhetorical statements with rigid solutions as you try to enforce your views, and in the end I will have arrived at the conclusion that cuddling with a Nabokov or some philo will do me much better.

SS consultation is tomorrow. DAMNIT. I had totally forgotten and now I will have to plough through skills and content until I seem as if I know what I'm doing and what questions to ask.

Now I am seriously tempted not to sit for the damn exam. Running away seems to be a better solution than being a hero and valiantly struggling through it for the sake of righteousness and principle, because everyone knows that all heroes die. The ones that don't are either a) dictators b) extremely lucky/have loads and loads of power/cash so they have the advantage over their ursupers or c) fairytale.