School was crazy; needless to say living in a hostel didn’t help alleviate the fact so. At times I wished I could just glue shut my door, switch off my phone and unplug the lan cable, so I can recuperate and let my alter egos loose, let them come out and have fun, before I kick the crap out of them and shoving them back into my wooden box again. Then perhaps, I will be able to function and maintain a more constructive theory of mind.

A month back, there was a bunch of rugged and sleeve tattooed guys employed by the management to clean the exterior windows by hanging themselves down the rooftop and kicking their way down with super-hose, soap and one of those big, bushy yellow scrubbers you thought you will only see in Ally Mcbeal. Whatever happened to that “being polite” attitude sadly did put me into some difficult situations I wish I could (but couldn’t of course) grovel my way out, but to cut the story short my decision to not befriend one of the spider man didn’t attenuate his persistence. Rather, in a very tacky manner he left a note under my door with a little pickup line and cell number.

On another note, I decided not to freak out because naturally if I don’t display any signs of reciprocation he should be able to get the hint. Just when I thought the reaffirming narcissistic event was over, the shadow tried to open my latched door. I made a then rational decision to report it, and of course an irresponsible link between the spider man and the shadow.

Hey, you can’t blame me for that, it is an innate instinct to do so, after all aversions could take up to days to develop, and the first episode was still fresh in my head. It turns out that my detective skills weren’t that fantastic after all, it was a bad man whom was trying to pry and steal from dorms whilst Mr. Spidey was innocent. Pensiveness brought me all the way to pit bottom when the management told me that his entire team was revoked from the cleaning sessions and they had to rope in another group of guys instead.

Sigh, how I wish I had jotted down his number before they took away the note, so there is a chance to apologize. Clearly this incident demonstrated and reminded me once again how people never fail to make the fundamental attribution errors when it comes to labeling and judging strangers. That look of prejudice in their eyes when the word “heavily tattooed” flowed out of their mouth, and that discriminative decision to remove the entire team from the set not only made me squirm and fidget in my seat, even the cold air diffusing from the pale white ceiling seemed extra chilling as they sliced through my skin.

Such is life. Whatever they have taught you in school about not to be judge a book by it’s cover is sheer thrash, because often we are erroneously too quick to attach a label with a ribbon onto strangers we meet, and that’s the somber fact no matter who tries to repudiate. This brings me to another point, to keep a mental note to be extra normal (or as a matter of fact the good’ole girl next door) when meeting new people, so as to set a sturdier stage for future interactions. And speaking of that, perhaps I should register myself in the rude-mode sometimes when the situation seems apt, say another of those weird-dude-pickups, or simply putting a period to an awkward conversation that leads to nothingness.

Boy, what a rant. This is barely half of the steam escaping from my cooped up head. Next on, I should figure out what to do with my life, not that it is disorientated in any way, but when it comes to personal feelings there is a tendency for me to jumble them up in a jigsaw mess impossible to unravel. This is probably one more thing I can’t stand about myself, why dabble my poor soul into such complexity? I don’t wish to dwell in self-deprecation, but sometimes my alter ego does get sucked into this black hole of Cacutta and I then have to use maximum energy to drag this fragmented piece out. Good for calories burning I guess.

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