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in, at the same time wondering why I needed this announcement.</p><p id="3cf0">“Bring money na!” He shot at me.</p><p id="a379">“Oh! Already given it to Val.”</p><p id="6fe8">“Alright!” He said and disappeared. Good!</p><p id="281d">Except, he didn’t leave the door the way he met it.</p><p id="9830">Seriously?</p><p id="9430">I began breathing fire like a baby dragon just before he roasts alive the idiot that stomp his sand castle, as I work myself up to <i>get up</i> and lock the door he stupidly left open.</p><p id="6ca6">Again, seriously?</p><p id="b577">I might behead someone someday.</p><h1 id="1d1b">Do you know gases are not solid?</h1><p id="b69e">It’s nearly two decades since a friend initiated me into the Pepsi gang. Hitherto I was a Mirinda and Fanta loyalist. I felt I and Coke had too much in colour. So there was no connection.</p><p id="7c04">But the type of Pepsi that drives me gaga, is the sweaty and smoky type.</p><p id="7db7">When it’s just perfectly chilled.</p><p id="8bf4">Perfect for cooling off on a hot Sunday afternoon over a barbecue or some snack.</p><p id="add4">And today will be no exception.</p><p id="fedd">I’m in church, but my mind’s home. I’m fantasizing about all the good things I’ll do to that sweaty bottle of Pepsi idling in my fridge. Just sitting there probably thinking of ways it can please me.</p><p id="3de9">We haven’t said <b>Amen</b> to <b>The Grace</b> when I was three feet from the exit. Only to be pulled back by a voice.</p><p id="3fbf">It’s my pastor who needed a word. So I stayed back, while Larry went home.</p><p id="5d91">I flung my Bible on the couch on entering the house, it flipped twice, then perched on the edge. I headed straight for the kitchen and found the bottle of Pepsi already losing its sweat on the kitchen table. It seems I wasn’t the only one daydreaming about it. Larry has beat me to it.</p><p id="7a19">I take out a disposable cup and grabbed the bottle of Pepsi. Lo and behold, the lid wasn’t closed. Are you kidding me?</p><p id="36a4">“It’s gas! Not solid! Don’t you know to lock a bottle of soda to keep the gas locked in?” I cried.</p><p id="bcb8">I took a sip. Larry’s lucky. My Pepsi is still intact. I drank a few more and shut the lid tightly.</p><p id="72fc">Today will not be the day I go to jail.</p><h1 id="6e1d">Am I your target or is the floor?</h1><p id="aa2d">You’ve seen the name Larry a few times now, and you must be wondering what kind of chap is he.</p><p id="7db4">A good one, I must say. A simple easy-going bloke.</p><p id="67f5">It’s not hard to find good words to describe Larry. Where I struggle though, is finding the words to describe the terrible things this good friend and roommate of mine does. I mean, goodness me.</p><p id="f7ee">Some Sundays ago, I’m feeling good. I decide to do the one thing I never do a lot of,

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take a full photo. I mean why not? I’m looking good. I’m feeling fly. Black hot pants. Blue sleeve. And a blazer on top. A photo won’t hurt.</p><p id="2986">I called my buddy, “Larry a few shots please.”</p><p id="4513">He happily takes the phone, points and shoots.</p><p id="962d">“That was fast.” I thought. “Is this guy even seeing me?”</p><p id="277b">“A few more,” I said as I fastened my hands in my pockets to look like a badass boss.</p><p id="4183">A few clicks later, he hands it over and says, “Nice! Here you go,” and walks away.</p><p id="3a45">“You’ve got to be kidding me!”</p><p id="a3c5">My buddy missed me completely. The photo was 80% road and bushes and 20% me with sun rays.</p><p id="6623">At this point, I’m genuinely amazed. How did he do it? It was easier to take a better picture than what he took. I mean, you have to be skilled to take a photo that bad. It’s not natural.</p><p id="2500">I’m furious.</p><p id="940a">At least you can understand why I may be considering murdering my roommate.</p><p id="6b68">I wrote this as humour. Not to be taken seriously. Because it’s intended to throw light on the minuscule mundane things that grind my gear as if the worlds coming to an end. But one thing I’ve learned over the years is to laugh at myself sometimes.</p><p id="7b80">I’m not sure why little things like these faze me. Albeit, there’s only so much I know about myself. And I’m still learning.</p><p id="1782">But the goal isn’t to hit at perfection.</p><p id="a9ed">I think it’s more about hitting at self-understanding. That way we can be able to either tune down those traits and habits that don’t serve us while tuning up those that do.</p><p id="17cc">Thanks for reading. Wanna ask, have you seen, <a href="https://readmedium.com/two-jeans-a-khaki-my-dads-wardrobe-taught-me-an-important-life-lesson-76dbcb0ed5a0"><b>Two Jeans & a Khaki? My Dad’s Wardrobe Taught Me An Important Value In Life!</b></a></p><div id="8f1f" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/two-jeans-a-khaki-my-dads-wardrobe-taught-me-an-important-life-lesson-76dbcb0ed5a0"> <div> <div> <h2>Two Jeans & a Khaki! My Dad’s Wardrobe Taught Me An Important Value In Life</h2> <div><h3>The life of a traditional man</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*byE1m7WP_Af5g-W90Qc6fg.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><p id="9e11">For more stories like this, join <b>Medium </b>to read <b>millions</b> of similar stories using my <a href="https://medium.com/@georgebluekelly/membership"><b><i>referral link</i></b></a><b><i>.</i></b></p></article></body>

Photo by Karsten Winegeart on Unsplash

I’m Planning On Murdering My Roommate.

Weird stuff that drives me nuts; 1. I hate to change position!

I stormed into my room, fell on my bed, and took a fetal position.

“No! It’s not it.” I turned.

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

Curling even further, I squeezed the pillow and groaned, “Ohhhhhh!”

“What are you doing?” Sara, my cousin asks, puzzled.

“The position!”

“What position?” She asks confused.

“The position I was in before mum called me.”

She went ballistically hysterical.

This was many years ago, but I tell you, not much has changed. Weirdos don’t change. They just change weird shit.

I’m crazy.

And I don’t mean in an endearing, “oh you’re so crazy,” sweet kinda way. I mean, “You’re a complete nut-job,” kinda crazy.

It’s why my earnest curiosity in life is, to see through others' eyes. And to think through others' minds. Just to know what it’s like. And to know if I’m sane.

Until then, read other of my crazy and be the judge.

Just press it from the bottom!

The dark line circling my eyes is getting darker. It looks like I’m wearing makeup or something, as I observe my face in the mirror one morning ago.

Wondering about my shaded eyes, I reached for the toothpaste, and press it on my toothbrush.

Nothing came out. Is it empty?

I bend to see, only to find the entire paste gathered at the top of the tube.

“How many times do I have to say it? We press toothpaste from the bottom and not midway!” I lamented.

Life would be so easy if people just press the toothpaste the right way.

Was that how you met the door?

I’m cocooned in my room, underneath a thick blanket — dark and warmly with an air of silence, except for the voice of Al Pacino echoing from my iPad as I immerse myself in Any Given Sunday.

“We’re in hell gentlemen. We’re in hell. And we can choose to stay there, or fight our way back.”

I credit this as one of the most powerful and life-changing scenes in a movie. I’m completely immersed in his speech whilst thinking about my own life. But just then, my room door swung open.

“We’re going shopping!” Larry announced.

“Okay?” I said, shaking myself out of the depth of emotion Al Pacino sunk me in, at the same time wondering why I needed this announcement.

“Bring money na!” He shot at me.

“Oh! Already given it to Val.”

“Alright!” He said and disappeared. Good!

Except, he didn’t leave the door the way he met it.

Seriously?

I began breathing fire like a baby dragon just before he roasts alive the idiot that stomp his sand castle, as I work myself up to get up and lock the door he stupidly left open.

Again, seriously?

I might behead someone someday.

Do you know gases are not solid?

It’s nearly two decades since a friend initiated me into the Pepsi gang. Hitherto I was a Mirinda and Fanta loyalist. I felt I and Coke had too much in colour. So there was no connection.

But the type of Pepsi that drives me gaga, is the sweaty and smoky type.

When it’s just perfectly chilled.

Perfect for cooling off on a hot Sunday afternoon over a barbecue or some snack.

And today will be no exception.

I’m in church, but my mind’s home. I’m fantasizing about all the good things I’ll do to that sweaty bottle of Pepsi idling in my fridge. Just sitting there probably thinking of ways it can please me.

We haven’t said Amen to The Grace when I was three feet from the exit. Only to be pulled back by a voice.

It’s my pastor who needed a word. So I stayed back, while Larry went home.

I flung my Bible on the couch on entering the house, it flipped twice, then perched on the edge. I headed straight for the kitchen and found the bottle of Pepsi already losing its sweat on the kitchen table. It seems I wasn’t the only one daydreaming about it. Larry has beat me to it.

I take out a disposable cup and grabbed the bottle of Pepsi. Lo and behold, the lid wasn’t closed. Are you kidding me?

“It’s gas! Not solid! Don’t you know to lock a bottle of soda to keep the gas locked in?” I cried.

I took a sip. Larry’s lucky. My Pepsi is still intact. I drank a few more and shut the lid tightly.

Today will not be the day I go to jail.

Am I your target or is the floor?

You’ve seen the name Larry a few times now, and you must be wondering what kind of chap is he.

A good one, I must say. A simple easy-going bloke.

It’s not hard to find good words to describe Larry. Where I struggle though, is finding the words to describe the terrible things this good friend and roommate of mine does. I mean, goodness me.

Some Sundays ago, I’m feeling good. I decide to do the one thing I never do a lot of, take a full photo. I mean why not? I’m looking good. I’m feeling fly. Black hot pants. Blue sleeve. And a blazer on top. A photo won’t hurt.

I called my buddy, “Larry a few shots please.”

He happily takes the phone, points and shoots.

“That was fast.” I thought. “Is this guy even seeing me?”

“A few more,” I said as I fastened my hands in my pockets to look like a badass boss.

A few clicks later, he hands it over and says, “Nice! Here you go,” and walks away.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”

My buddy missed me completely. The photo was 80% road and bushes and 20% me with sun rays.

At this point, I’m genuinely amazed. How did he do it? It was easier to take a better picture than what he took. I mean, you have to be skilled to take a photo that bad. It’s not natural.

I’m furious.

At least you can understand why I may be considering murdering my roommate.

I wrote this as humour. Not to be taken seriously. Because it’s intended to throw light on the minuscule mundane things that grind my gear as if the worlds coming to an end. But one thing I’ve learned over the years is to laugh at myself sometimes.

I’m not sure why little things like these faze me. Albeit, there’s only so much I know about myself. And I’m still learning.

But the goal isn’t to hit at perfection.

I think it’s more about hitting at self-understanding. That way we can be able to either tune down those traits and habits that don’t serve us while tuning up those that do.

Thanks for reading. Wanna ask, have you seen, Two Jeans & a Khaki? My Dad’s Wardrobe Taught Me An Important Value In Life!

For more stories like this, join Medium to read millions of similar stories using my referral link.

Humor
This Happened To Me
Short Story
Life
Psychology
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