Have any of you had the feeling you're being watched? And I don't mean "Hey, baby. How you doin'?" or "I see you! Now stop hiding under the dining table and do your homework."
I mean "M15 - Is - Watching - Your - Every - Move - And - You - Can't - Hide" kind of watched.
Yeah, me neither.
But it's a good conversation starter, right?
"Hello, Taylor. What's new in your life?"
"I'm sorry, Cynthia. But I can't talk. I'm being *looks suspiciously around bushes* WATCHED."
"*wide eyes* REALLY? You have to call the police!"
"Sigh. My sweet Cynthia. The police are NO MATCH FOR THE *looks suspiciously around bushes* M15."
"*gasps audibly* No!"
"*yelps suddenly* They're coming to get me!"
"WOULD YOU JUST GET OVER IT?"
It's interesting the way it would have turned out. Taylor, being the suspicious one, would have a nagging feeling that Cynthia may not be an ally. In fact, she may be *looks suspiciously around speakers of computer* ONE OF THEM.
DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNNNNNN.
You may have guessed right now that I'm not in a very stable state. Indeed, as I type these words, I am gulping down my fourth mug of coffee. Coffee GOOD. Me like COFFEE.
Let's talk about more pressing issues, though. Like my BIRTHDAY!!! YAY ME!!! I'M TURNING 14!!!
Which is still unbearably young, but I'm not too fussy.
Alright, now that the joy for having a birthday is over (It actually started this morning and ended after I ate breakfast) I want to talk about something else.
As many of you know, I'm not the best person you ask to make decisions on what to do. I mean, my idea of fun is to crawl under my quilt, put the Air Conditioner at 16 degrees Celsius, have a glass of Coke (the drink, you freaks) and a chicken sandwich next to me, as I read a nice book.
It would also be nice if there was no one there to knock on the door and say "AISU! GIVE THIS BOX OF HEAVY EQUIPMENT TO THE DOWNSTAIRS OFFICE!"
But, like I said, I'm not too fussy.
In fact, right at this moment, the doorbell has rung twice, and my dad is yelling at me to open the door.
From across the hall. Don't comment on my father's freakishly strong voice. It just makes me think of a jail warden
But my dad ALSO uses that freakishly strong voice to shout at annoying Subway cashiers who force me to get more change.
Oh, dear. I have to leave for my birthdy lunch.
So for the time being, just ponder on the words of wisdom here while I run to the car.