My Mysterious Week of Magical Gates.

I was hungry. I’m not very good at cooking, though. I think you’re supposed to defrost something the night before. I didn’t get that memo. I tend to leave it until the last minute and then put it in the microwave. I was always told that was a bad idea. And indeed, it was. You can imagine the sight: four burgers on a plate in the microwave, defrosting merrily away. I was watching them like a five-year-old watches a beautiful winter scene outside their bedroom window on Christmas Eve, desperately waiting for Santa Claus. Sadly, this merriment failed to last. The last burger had stuck to the plate. It was welded. So I turned to plate upside down and whacked the bottom of it with a wooden spatula. It was all I had. This didn’t work. Plan B was to jam a knife under the burger. That didn’t work either. The knife was stuck. Eventually, I got the burger off the plate – in several small pieces. I left the endeavour as a memory in the filing cabinet in my brain that’s labelled ‘failure’. Needless to say, I was still hungry.

Life normally isn’t this hard, but once again, this week I found myself all alone as mum and dad hit Majorca for their 39th wedding anniversary. I got them a funny card. Everyone has somebody in their family like that who always gets the stupid card. My card had a picture on the front of a pear cut in half and two faces drawn on the two halves. The line above read: ‘To A Wonderful Pear’. They liked it. Sadly, the same kind of affection cannot be applied to the week I’ve had. Oh no. Burger-Gate was the tip of the iceberg.

I knew something was wrong when I gazed down at the normally pristine white windowsill to see a red substance glistening in the winter-esque sunshine. Shortly before seeing the red substance, I felt a rather sharp stinging pain in my hand. I quickly came to the conclusion that I needed, firstly, bleach, to remove what turned out to be blood (because that’s the best thing to remove blood according to the criminals on CSI), and, perhaps more importantly, a medic. It was a stupid accident. One of those really small cuts that bleeds a ridiculous amount. I was opening the blinds when it happened. There’s a bit of plastic on the cord, but it shattered and leapt into the sky, slicing my hand in the process. What made it worse was that I had no plasters (band-aids) available to me. Mum and dad had taken them all on holiday. Sniff. Still hurts.

It wasn’t my only misfortune this week, oh no. I haven’t even mentioned the hailstorm that attacked me whilst walking back home from church that left me with a few very small cuts on my face. The hail was horizontal because the wind was so strong. Nor have I mentioned the Renault that was three feet away from knocking me to high hell. I noticed that its registration plate was one from last year, and I was extremely grateful for that. Knowing Renaults and how awful the French are at making cars, if it was any older than a year it wouldn’t have had any brakes.

But the ultimate pain this week came from the death of my red friend. I killed my laptop. It brings a tear to my eye looking at her in all her red shiny goodness. The accident happened right after Hailstorm-Gate. I was nursing my wounds when the laptop fell off my bed and shattered the screen and damaged the insides beyond repair. She wailed and screamed, coughed and spluttered, as I cradled her in my arms and she came to a rather abrupt death. I thought about singing ‘Silent Night’ but I thought that might be overdoing it. Four years of misery and pain. Four years of Vista. Four awful years. And I still miss her. Here’s to you, Dell Inspiron 1547 and all your shiny redness. Sniff. It didn’t have to end this way.

After the funeral, I hoped my luck would change, but to no avail. It was an awfully lonely week. No one to talk to. No one to see. Just a week in solitary confinement. I don’t have any friends (or want any), but boy, I missed being around people. I missed mum and dad. Well, to a degree.

I was most concerned this week after receiving a plethora of calls from mum’s customers asking for her and not knowing she was away. I also had relatives ring wishing them a happy anniversary and relatives coming around to do the same, not one of them with the knowledge that mum and dad were away. To me, it kind of sounded like they had just run away. Therefore, I spent much of my week terrified they weren’t coming home. I don’t know why they wouldn’t want to come home. I’m a delight. Well, I like to think that. I mean, if I can still muster the strength to get out of bed in the morning even after a hailstorm, a blind-cord and a car tried to kill me…

Peace Out :|:

(I’d love to hear your thoughts on this post. To do so, you can leave a comment by pressing the bubble on the top right of this post and scrolling to the bottom of the new page you’re taken to. Likes greatly appreciated, and I always visit any blogs associated with them. Thanks).



    • ‘Busy’ isn’t the word I’d use. ‘Catastrophic’ is pretty close.

      Regarding my writing style, I was always write how I think. How I think is often incoherent and often akin to somebody on an acid trip. It’s always nice to know I make sense to somebody. Thanks!

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