Mom came into my room…

Mom came into my room (as always, without knocking first) while my brother and I were playing FIFA. Earlier in the day I installed a carpet for my room by myself. That included my getting sweaty due to carrying out of my room a desk, a chair, a nightstand, and a bed in the process and then putting it back where it belonged.

But my mom didn’t notice that. Instead of appreciating the work I did she complained about the layer bedding that lied untidily on my bed (even though I had planned on getting rid of it).

And then she took a photo-box photograph of my girlfriend and I and sat on my bed. I think I look nice in the photograph and my girlfriend looked really pretty in her purple outfit. And we looked cute together.

But my mom ignored that. The only comment she made was the crease on my shirt and that I should have had it tidied up.

It’s not that I’m being childish and always in the constant look for praise but don’t I at least deserve more encouraging comments than that for my life from my mother?

An excuse and a mumble

As I’m typing this I’m all by myself sipping my last bit of lukewarm coffee I ordered some fifteen minutes ago in the corner of the cafeteria while taking advantage of the free campus wifi. Why? Because firstly, I have nothing else to do at this moment. Secondly, I may want to see Lia after this. And thirdly, why not?

This blog seems deserted with my not posting anything for the last couple of months. Yeah if there isn’t anything interesting to blog about what is there to blog? What comes up is this kind of post that only looks like a lame excuse for not blogging and then denying it with seemingly a better excuse.

My seemingly better excuse is that my excuse is true. Nothing really interesting has happened in my life. Just the same, old routine I do everyday which is basically the following:

  1. Wake up.
    • By alarm.
    • By myself.
    • By mom waking me up to do the morning prayer.
  2. Bath.
  3. Go to university and study.
  4. Kill time with friends and/or girlfriend.
  5. Go home.
  6. Do assignment and/or play games or read.
  7. Sleep.
  8. Repeat.
And I spend weekends at home, mostly repeating the above routines #6 and #7.
I’ve never been much of an energetic person all my life. Maybe it’s because I am not genetically made for being busy or maybe it’s because of my upbringing, I don’t know for sure. But the word “hard-working” just doesn’t exist in my vocabularies.
One of the recurring topics of my conversation with Lia is about career. (Of course, that ever-loathed C-word!) Just like everybody else I’d like a job that goes with my “workflow”, e.g. slow-moving, doesn’t require hard work. Just once I would like to read newspaper and see a job ad such as this:

slow, high paying job. no specific requirements, no prior experience required! job: watching over kittens.

Yeah in my dreams, right. But then again life has to be lived. It’s scary if I think about it; it’s survival of the fittest: if you don’t keep up with the tensions of life, you have no use of living.

Perhaps we should move to another planet where the people are all lazy and live our miserable, lacking-in-effort lives.