|The Ills of the V
||[Feb. 15th, 2007|02:11 pm]
|[||it feels like
So even LJ is exhibiting this unwarranted v-day shittiness with the pink-hearts wallpaper and arrow-through-the-red-heart logo.
All I wanted last night was the gas man. He didn't come either.
After two weeks of cold sandwiches for dinner, I'd decided I was going to use up all the spare vegetables in the fridge and make some risotto (again), and eat it on a dvd. So I finish up chopping all the greens with the damnned blunt knife on the rotting chopboard and finally get to start cooking when poof, the fire goes out. Yes, I'd run out of gas. At 8:30pm. I go crazy calling up all the numbers I can find on yellowpages.com, search "24-hour gas delivery" on google only to find nothing, and finally sit down with a cigarette feeling totally defeated. What, I'm in 24-hour operative, labour-exploitative Singapore and there's no gas delivery to be found at 8:30pm on a bloody weekday is this a joke? It's funny, really, but I felt like I was going to cry. I was so tired.
I send a message to somebody highlighting the above salient points with a comical twist to it. I sit down and call my mother while waiting for the reply that never came.
I ate two grapes and went to sleep at 10pm.
I got the reply this afternoon. That's ok. I delete the number on a PMS-decision, which is not really wise but that's ok too.
I will make the risotto tonight. And if everything still goes wrong --- the new gas tank explodes, I set fire to the kitchen, the entire row of houses burn down and my neighbours' children are marred for the rest of their lives --- at least there'll be no "Valentine's Day, you LOSER!" ringing softly but nigglingly at the back of my head. So it'll be ok.