- I've been sick for the past week and look like it. It's hard to get over an illness involving lots of snot and the sensation of your lungs being squeezed when you basically live inside of a wet washcloth. I woke up at 3am this rainy morning to the water feature that is the plaster hole in the ceiling. The only thing I had to contain the leak was my cereal bowl. While I was up I thought it would be a good time to clean the black mold from my window. Hmmm...inhaling moldy spores. Is that conducive to good health? This leads me to bullet point number two...
- Mold. As I've mentioned before the dryer doesn't work here, so it takes a good three days for my clothes to get dryish. My room officially smells like mildew - not a surprise but what was surprising is that I smelled the exact stench of my room in my studio. And in the library. And the computer lab. It was me. My f-ing jeans reeked of mildew. I'm the stinky kid.
- My face has broken out. I look like I was bitch slapped with poison ivy.
- The Layla bangs are no more. They've even moved pass Beiber bangs and have to be held back with a bobby pin.
- I have two kinds of outfits. Painting clothes and hiking clothes. And they are exactly the same. My jeans are wearing thin and I fear a blowout soon...back pocket-style.
Oh Layla, you might say...you are over exaggerating. But oh no my friends, I am not. In the past three weeks I was mistaken for a squatter..."Oh, you're not squatting? You PAY to live at The Adelaide?" I know it's hard to believe that I'm paying to live here but I find it just as difficult to believe that I'd be categorized as a squatter. A squatter to me are the burnt-out junkies in Trainspotting.
A week before that I had my pack on the train and the carriage attendant asked if I was a hitchhiker. Now, since I'm on a train I can only translate this to mean..."Are you a hobo?". I wanted to say, "Not less than 3 minutes ago I paid you for a ticket, therefore I'm not a hobo". After I got off the train I realized that he never gave me back my change. That ended up being a goddamn $20 train ride and a blow to the ego.
Another benefit of heavy rains is that my toilet leaks and leaves an enormo puddle on the floor. I'm out of anything absorbent to wipe it up with so I had to venture across the hall to the dreaded communal bathroom and I swiped the only roll of toilet paper. Of course it couldn't be just an ordinary roll of toilet paper it had to be industrial size, you know the kind that they use in porto-potties? As I heaved that car tire size roll of tp to my room I felt defeated.
I cleaned up the mess as best I could and as I turned the knob to the toilet and waited for the tank to fill up (my toilet is broken and I have to do this every time I flush) I thought, okay God or MTV Punked-type show...you got me. I've become the silt on the bottom of the mosquito infested pond of life...will you please stop with the daily kick to the balls? The only sound to be heard was Frank digging in the rubbish.
