Have you ever wondered what the song “Hit Me Baby One More Time” means? Neither have I wink wink, but I did today. So like all my other highly philosophical questions I asked it to AI, and the answer is really not what you think it is. She obviously doesn’t want her boyfriend to hit her, as in physical violence. Right? Please tell me you didn’t think that. So the songwriters were Swedish and somewhere stuff got lost in translation. They thought “hit me” means call me. What an innocent mistake, and your dirty little mind lied to you all this time. Shame on you. Let this be a learning Saturday for you wherever you are.

Daily writing prompt

What is the biggest challenge you will face in the next six months?

View all responses

To get along with a colleague

You know that metallic taste that you get at the bottom of your tongue just when you’re about to fall sick? I have that now.

It’s that day again. Beautiful Roses, cucumbers and seeds. I’m trying my best not to leave the house. There’s too much red out there. Red and pink. It triggers me. I start shivering, and I leave.

The Randomthoughtbeam most beautiful album art of the year award goes to

Here Comes The Rain

by Magnum

Stopped reading the newspaper altogether. Barely make it to the end of the front page on weekends. Also, I realized I don’t have to pay to read the front page of The Hindu. All these years I’ve been paying for nothing. I made some money selling stock. Dosage of anxiety/depression medication has been reduced. A friend told me that rarely goes well, but lets see. Got a little bit of nerve-racking news today. There is a slight possibility that I might have to relocate to Pune. FUCK. Two more months of probation, and I was supposed to lead a life of happiness, visiting motherland every other weekend and eating dosas for dinner.

I somehow end up in a HUGE psychiatric hospital. Contrary to popular belief, my first instinct is to get out of there. So I’m in line to leave through one of the exits, but then a nurse spots me. She beings to try and stall me by asking questions. Suddenly she stops, smiles and lets me go. As I turn my head i can see another nurse sneaking near the exit. I see a needle in her hand. I continue moving, hoping to god that it’s for another patient. I reach the door, and just as I thought, she stabs my lower elbow with it. I sense feeling tired and …fuck it. You know the rest.

forgot to say this was a dream lol

Somebody upstairs has got a Pomeranian, and the dysfunctional restaurant next door has an owner with a voice that can audibly match the pitch of the Pomeranian. So I am being attacked from the top and the bottom. Noise has never been an issue for me. I’ve heard horror stories of people having to bang on walls to stop neighbors from literally banging. Thin walls, spring mattresses, and teenagers are not good for a healthy state of mind. So, I know what it’s like out there in the “real” world, but just personally, I’ve never had to face a situation like this.

I have been to this restaurant before. I’ll explain to you the setup. There’s the owner couple. Young, possibly IT people. A silent husband and a violent wife. They could be brother and sister, guess you’ll never know. Point is, the wife’s in charge. Now we come to the kitchen that is run by another family, that looks to be of South-East Indian descent. The husband does the cooking and the wife does the chopping, and there seems to be what looks like a distant relative just passing plates. When you come in to the restaurant, the kitchen is right outside the building, in the front. This is where the dysfunction begins. When you get to the restaurant you think oh! This looks quite nice, with the outdoor kitchen and all. then you order to the cook, because he’s the only one there right? The cook listens to your order and just goes about his day until you realize it’s been fifteen minutes. Now, fifteen minutes restaurant-time is different from 15 minutes business-time. 15 minutes restaurant time is a long, half hour wait in comparison to regular time. So you get angry and look for the manager. Then the manager shouts the order out to the cook, and that’s when you realize the magic that is going on. The manager lady has to shout out the orders at a certain frequency or pitch as you might call it. Only then will it trigger the cook to start cooking. It’s a different level of security really.

When fever grips you, it latches on to you like a demon from the underworld. Cold with fear you kneel to the endless days of terror that follows. You want soup but you can’t drink it. Rabies is in your eyes, and…

Fuck I have a cold.

Today i had to do a mandatory course on mental health. Granted, I learned a lot of things, but answering the quiz at the end gave me so much anxiety for the first time in a long time, that it made me re-think a lot of things.