The night when the electricity went out

I don't understand why people find my swirly time and date piece troublesome and uncool. I think it rocks! Anyway, since David blatantly told me that it's utterly, utterly shitty, I shall take it out. All thanks to Ian my beloved bruh since I know cowpat about css or html. I do know quite a fair bit about CSI though, but that's another story altogether.

As I was nearing home, I felt that somehow the neighborhood looked different. Then I realised that it was dead quiet and pitch black. Great, the electricity went out. I called my housemates to see if they're happily watching a football match somewhere else. They were at home. Drat. Means no ginger tea session for me. Bumped into thousands of menacingly sharp/slippery/crunchy stuff on the arduous 10m journey into the house. Made a mental note to put a frigging flashlight in my car.

All my housemates were in awkward drugged positions on their beds, room doors ajar, staring up the ceiling in total darkness. So this is what's left of them when the computers are not working, I thought disgustedly. Empty shells. Then I realised that I am a computer-dependent internet junkie too.

After searching high and low for a lighter (or matches) in the house, I ended up lighting my scented candles using the gas stove. Undressed as slowly as I could. Still no electricity. Then I decided to take a crap (to pass time) and shower (to sleep better in case the fans won't work the entire night). Nearly dropped the candle on my head when I tried placing it on a ledge above the shower (so I won't accidentally kill the flicker mid-shampoo). The candlelight was actually quite romantic, but since the setting is my notorious bathroom... (shower scene soundtrack from Psycho playing)... the candlelight shed only creepy dancing shadows over the moss-covered walls and amplifying the size of busily crawling and buzzing insects.

All was quiet. Never had I heard dung splashing into the depth of the dark waters below with such absurd clarity. I tried to camouflage the sound of Mission: Locate Underside of Porcelain Submarine of those heat-seeking missiles by turning on the shower, shuffling shampoo bottles, slapping at insects and bellowing a popsong. I couldn't hear myself poop any longer but I still had niggling doubts about my housemates in their stupor. Inacitivity enhances senses. What if they're all sporting shit-faced grins knowing that I'm taking a crap? Or, worse still, glueing their ears to the bathroom door and snickering? I don't know. I have a paranoia about people trying to eavesdrop on me pooping. Do they have a scientific name for that phobia?

I was still baffled and traumatized after my private (after all) shitty affair and shower, so I scribbled the thoughts on a piece of paper. And those miraculously transferred themselves into this blog when I logged in a while ago. Awesome.

post script: Remember... no one's listening until you fart.