The past few weeks have been nothing short of blissful. I'm not the kind of person who likes to be constricted to schedules or to-do lists, which doesn't really cater to a life of academic pursuits. Thankfully, semesters are bookended by down time. While friends of mine have jettysoned themselves to far-off lands, citing a need to expand their "cultural understanding of the world we live in" - you know who you are, you pretentious dick - I stayed home. Primarily because my bank account doesn't yield to spur-of-the-moment international jaunts. Yesterday, I settled into the couch with my laptop fully-charged and at the ready, excited for an opportunity to turn on Game of Thrones, Face-stalk people I went to school with (a la the Grinch), and wait for the fibers of my sweatpants to fuse to the leather of the couch.
Unfortunately, the fates had conspired against me.
I adore my neighbours. Really, I do. They're pleasant and well-mannered, but will never say more than "good morning" or "hi" when passing me in the foyer. (I am not the kind of person who possesses any interest in my neighbours, and I desire that they give a similar lack of fuck about mine.) Most importantly though, my neighbours appreciate the sanctity of silence, or, failing that, of quiet. However, the perfectly reasonable academics living directly across the hall have an adorable, chubby-cheeked, blonde-haired bundle of joy who is, I believe, teething.
The crying is unbearable. This child is capable of reaching pitches that no mortal being should reach; the kind of ungodly noise that can prompt a girl to leave the comfortable, warm sanctuary of her apartment, braving the bitter winter to find the nearest shopping centre (filled though it was with poorly-dressed twelve year olds enjoying their own freedoms).
That, my friends, is how I ended up spending money I don't have on scented candles after spending two hours in Dusk (shopping center spruiker of pretentiously-labelled scented candles). The funny thing about females is that we all seem to possess the ability to sniff at the same scented candle for 15 minutes on end without tiring or growing bored, during which time we form an attachment to said candle, and then trying to come betwixt woman and candle is a feat no mere man can accomplish.
I mean, on the plus side, my new lavender-scented "Relaxation" candle is sure to help me keep my calm and not go on an awe-inspiring carnage and bloodshed-filled rampage throughout my apartment block. And, let's face it, that "Concentration" candle is going to come in so handy next semester...
I just want to let you all know that if you read about someone in the Brisbane area punching a baby in the face tomorrow morning, it wasn't me. I have a lot of self control. Unless there are candles involved.
xo, CK
