I realise it's been a while since I reported anything on the girlhood front. So here goes.
I have a new name- Lizzie. Blame it on the adult lizard and, within a few weeks, the baby lizard, that found their way to my room and chose to make it their graveyard- or coffin. One died at the door, the other near my bed, and I was left with the distasteful, goosebump-inducing task of carrying the corpses out to the refuse chute. Ugh! I still cannot think of that disgusting activity without shivers running down my spine. I'm quite brave when it comes to cockroaches and lizards, but only when they're alive. I really don't fancy dead creatures, especially when they hobble all the way to my room, only to die there.
And then there was the day when it rained so heavily on a very windy day, that my blanket and pillowcase were clean lifted off the clothesline, clips and all, and floated down to a windowsill on the sixteenth floor. No amount of ringing the doorbell or gentle, persuasive knocking could induce the inhabitants of the flat to open their door to a girl seeking what was rightfully hers, and the next day, my precious possessions were no longer visible fluttering from the window. Gone, irretrievably.
The incidents above should have convinced me of the total unkindness of living, breathing creatures. I just realised the perversity of inanimate objects as well.
Troubles come by the handful. So here I am, at half past four in the morning, cleaning out the keyboard of my laptop with my new handkerchief, trying to get rid of the crumbs from a bowl that chose to upturn itself precisely on my keyboard. The revenge of the God of Electronics. As I type, therefore, I have to have my eyes on the screen- lest you should be left to fill up the blanks in my incomplete words.
(How can you explain the fact that most crumbs chose to settle under 'E', the letter that I seem to need the most?)