Kafka dreams

Good evening, my dirty little city.

I’m here in my room, typing madly on my laptop for a paper that’s due tomorrow evening, cramming every possible personal experience that’s relevant to the topic, and rewriting it so that it will pathetically pass as a sorry social commentary, drawn from classical psychological articles (the one I’m currently writing about is on Alfred Binet and his additional methods on determining subnormal schoolchildren – a raw precursor to his Simon-Binet intelligence test, and in turn, the Stanford-Binet intelligence test).

As I’m typing, I’m currently more aware of my surroundings - the calming humming sound of the fan, the dark hallway that can be seen from the open door of my room, the shadows cast from my reading lamp, and the wind whispering through the windows, making the curtains dance, which I would have to say, is driving me fucking crazy.

Why all of this? Why the heightened sense of my surroundings? It’s because I’m Blattaphobic.

(OH FUCK!! Another one just crawled behind the fan as I’m typing this sentence! I twitched out of my makeshift computer table as it crawled on the dresser drawer. I then helplessly called for help to put an end to the monstrous vermin's sorry existence.)

Just a couple of minutes ago, I was happily typing in my office, with my Miniature Pinscher Chi-chi accompanying me, churning out in what was supposed to be my magnum opus for Ms. Vivienne. I was suddenly distracted as she scrambled and went below my executive swivel chair.

And there, being poked by Chi-chi’s paw, with its belly facing me, six legs frantically swinging in the air, feigning death from time to time, and with its most unmistakable pungent whiff, my dread.

..I can’t kill one even if my life depended on it. My heart thumped heavily as I hurriedly folded my laptop and my copy of Vonnegut’s Hocus Pocus (since I have to finish what I’m typing or else I’m screwed), and hysterically transferred to my room.

When I came back from opening the lights in my room, it was nowhere to be found. Chi-chi was comfortably resting on her red bed, with arms crossed on her bone shaped pillow, BUT IT WAS STILL NOWHERE TO BE FOUND!...

So here I am again, with my laptop resting on a swivel chair, and me, sitting on a small, red monobloc armchair and ultimately looking silly, paranoid of all the dark spots around me (it doesn’t take a shrink to know that I have associated dark spots with it), imagining the fluttering sound of its crunchy translucent brown wings, and delirious that one might just be crawling somewhere (hopefully not behind me or on my foot), taunting, scheming, with all of his friends, to come out all at once and scare the crap out of me.

...Eeep!