You Make Me Feel Like Dirt

One midnoon, after a quite tiresome lecture on coagulation chemistry, I returned home to find my apartment as empty as my stomach. Hungry and exhausted, and such a lethal combination that two makes, I sat down on the couch and with my bag as the pillow, I laid still in the comforting embrace of the couch's cool, soft cushions.

"Tomorrow, lab report due on ketone reduction, but still, nothing on paper."

Hm...I really have to reconsider that 12-hour policy of mine: homework should be started at least 12 hours before due date. In the past, it has worked well - providing that the homework could be finished within 12 hours, of course. But now, as you get more senior, as your classes increase to the 4000 level, as your professors get less humorous during lecture, as you lose more interest for your field of study - last minute work doesn't get any worse than this. Back in the glorious past, last minute homework provided me with something that no study technique can provide: longlasting memory, and the sense of utterly divine satisfaction upon its completion.

Pressure does turn black, dirty coal into diamonds.

"Wait, tomorrow also - Wastewater Treatment class has a quiz. Goddamnit."

The important question is: how much pressure, and how long?

Thus in effect, I felt really depressed about it, but not that very - just enough to make me feel like phoning up my mom and bitch to her how bad the world has treated me lately. But then, as of that moment in time, Kuala Selangor is a handful of inconvenient timezones away from my apartment, and to bitch at anyone else at the time, although in person I don't have the habit of bitching at all, was impossible. No one was around to hear me bitch. How sad was that. How even more depressing. How desperate I was to bitch so much so that I could move on, finish the day and face tomorrow. How I wish I could bitch to someone, and then hear myself being bitched to.

Just as I was about to dial 1-800-PHONESEX as my last resort, the phone rang.

"Wei?"
"Hello, Anas ada?"

Cantik! Ayam!
It was a girl! And what beautiful, sweet, sexy, raspy, soothing, voice she had! What great timing you got there, God! Exactly what I was looking for! Exactly what I was hoping for! Oh divine! Immediately, I looked at the Caller ID screen to find out who it was actually at the other end of the line, and *gasp* to my amazement, the budak baru apartment. She was a fresh meat, a new ayam! Hot dog! I hit the goddamn motherload! You lucky son of a didley! Fiddle-dee-dee! All hail nerds of the world! All hail the Ramzanul Borhans of the world! Hail!

"Err...Anas takde."
"Oh..."
"Dia pergi Anime Club meeting."
"Pyan ada?"
"Pyan takde."
"Oh..."
"Dia belum balik lab dia."
"Mamat ada?"
"Mamat on duty jaga kelas C++."
"Oh..."
"Hm..."
Say it, say it, say it, say my name, woman.
"Kalau macam tu, takpa lah. Bye."

*Click*

What the- ? Sagganuts, did she just- ? I mean, hell, didn't- ? Was it- ? Why the dog poop did she- ? No, she didn't- ? You're telling me that she- ? What- ?

Screw this, I'm going homosexual.