Buddhists Do Scratch Their Heads Too

I am thinking about writing something. Perhaps it could be an entry that depicts how I actually have a life outside this blog world. But my head is so full of ache now. It's so full of ache that there is no more room for any creativity for me to invent a story.

There are quite some things though. Firstly, I lost my locker keys which also means that I had to pay a penalty fee. Last wednesday, I stayed at the gym for an extra hour just to look for the missing keys.

I aimlessly walked back and forth the treadmill area hoping that the keys would pop out of one of those machines. I also asked each and every person running to check their machines if there was a key left in there  which also made me think that this would be a good pick up tactic to use when a cute guy is running the treadmill and I could pretend that I'm looking for some keys and then I can start a small talk and that would really really be a cool thing to do. Anyway, I digressed.

Unfortunately, after a whole hour of searching, nothing came up. I left the gym with a sunken heart and with an empty wallet. I know there is no point in here. My point is, I spent money for nothing.

Hi, my name is headache. I am currently residing at the corner street of Millktea's brain and I am having the time of my life.

Last night, I overheard milktea complained that she can't sleep. It made me smile. Evil me. How could she when I am here inside her head partying all night, throwing tomatoes at the walls of her skull and breaking wine glasses while I dance? To believe that she can actually fall asleep while I engage in these activities is like saying that smelling a stinky sock is a very soothing activity. Complaining is just pointless.

At this precise moment, Milktea is contemplating whether to take a cup of coffee to get an instant relief or not. It does not scare me. I am planning to dance some more tonight but, wait... No.... no....milktea, please don't drink coffee...nooooooh! *burble burble burble*.I promise *burble* to behave tonight. Don't drown me with coffee! I did not bring my swimsuiiiitttt. Nooooooohhhhhh........nnoooooohhhhh... *burble*

As most of you already know, I am very constipated. I am so constipated that had my mother didn't give birth to me as a human being, I will probably be an element called constipation jumping from one person to another leaving poop stiffener into various peoples' anuses. It wouldn't be a very fun job but it has its perks too. For example, if there's someone you hate, you can pay me to drop that person's butt a poop stiffener. The intensity of stiffener will depend on how much you hate the person.

That being said, it is clear to all of us that poop to me is like a rat to a cat. It's so elusive that when the urge to poop knocks at my door, I deem it worthy to leave everything behind to pay the bathroom a visit.

At my workplace, there is a girl whom I often bumped into inside the bathroom. Time and again, I would come across her in front of the mirror dabbing concealer onto her blackhead-filled nose and fixing her kinky hair. If I would give an estimate how often she uses her concealer, it's probably the same rate as to how fast I can consume a bar of chocolate.

The first few times I see her doing this, I don't mind. Girls are like that. Sometimes, it makes them feel better just to put something on their face even if it's obviously not making any difference. And as a girl myself, I understand completely.

However, as I said apart from constipation, my poop is inflicted with a disease called people shy as well. Meaning, it won't come out when someone is standing outside the cubicle. Clearly, that concealer girl's presence is preventing my poop from coming out and when this happens, I'd probably have to wait for the next full moon before it chooses to come out again.

For this reason, I hate this girl. Everytime I see her, dark clouds start forming in my head and the desire to bury her face into the sink is beckoning me. While I do this, I will tell her that her nose will always look like shit to me, that no matter how much thick of concealer she puts into her nose, it wouldn't make her look any prettier.

Lastly, I want to tell her this...


You don't deserve a nose.

Today, I almost ran out of air to breathe. This danger was not caused by any health problem but by a colleague, who apparently, thinks bombarding me with stupid questions is part of her job description.

I seriously am trying to stop myself from underestimating her capabilities. Maybe, she's a good cook I told myself. I shouldn't focus on what's not there.

But by the third time she approached, I knew this girl has left her common sense somewhere. I wish I could help her find it but losing common sense is just as bad as getting a bad nose lift. I'm afraid it's not going to come back.

In times like this, I wonder why people think that life is beautiful when people like her exists?

My photography class finally ended last week. It was fun while it lasted. I am relieved though to finally get out of that hell of a workshop. There's this creepy guy who has been "sort of" flirting with me and I am not amused by any inch of him.

First, he's a jerk and likes to make fun of other people. Second, he keeps a gun. And last but not the least, he wears a sloppy pair of sandals. When I started picturing myself one day being killed by him, I hyperventilated. I thought If I ever get killed with a gun, I want it to be someone who wears a nice pair of shoes.

To the right is an image I submitted for my class assignment. I did my best.

Now if you shall excuse me, I need to send God an email asking him to stop spamming my life with a bunch of damaged goods. It's getting more and more depressing. Maybe, it wouldn't hurt to send him spam mails to so he'd know how it feels. ha!ha!ha!