I am confused.

I invoked the demon of bad humor to possess me about five minutes ago. But I do not feel that evil tingling in my stomach and spine that tells me the demon is here yet. Perhaps s/he is busy helping lawyers worldwide. Therefore I will busy myself too and burn some more incense and frilly underwear later.

I am stranded at the net cafe right now, and though I want to go home and take a nice hot relaxing shower, lie face down on my bed with my fat cat purring next to me and a book placed on my pillow, I can't. My mother is at home. It is amazing; she can turn me from a disjointed, if harmless human being, to a curse-spitting sonar-screech emitting flailing berserker in milliseconds. So the net cafe it is. I don't go home before one in the morning that she's gone. I suffer from continual sleep deprivation thanks to her and my own stupidity. Because when I finally go home, instead of dropping dead on my bed, I do such things as shower, enjoy long luxurious craps with my nose stuck in multicoloured magazines stashed in the sink for this exact purpose, squeeze pimples, try to understand why there is an empty box of pizza under a manga under some CDs under my underwear under some other books on the bed with my cat sleeping on them, etc. I have developed amazing juggling skills. I can retrieve items from the pile I just described without disturbing the pile or the cat. I can even locate things after the appropriate ass scratching and pondering and sacrifices to the appropriate demigod. Usually this involves me ritualistically upturning heaps of items and throwing them at all directions while using colourful language and special gestures, such as pulling at my hair, banging my head on walls and closets -accidentally or otherwise-, pretending I have three legs in order to walk on the sea of items I have created without the tell-tale crunching sounds informing me I have just stepped on a limited edition CD, balancing on tiptoe of one leg while using both hands to hold onto place a avalanche of CDs intend on surfing on my head AND holding some books with the other leg, etc. So after all the struggling usually it is very late and I sleep at 03:30 am instead of 01:00. Needless to say, the next day I have all the intellectual capacity of something that's been dead for four days and the fluidity and graceful movement of a pregnant elephant. I am sure that one of these days my mother will come home early in the morning and will find me sat on the toilet, dead asleep, with my head resting on the sink, slowly drooling on the pages of the magazine I will still be holding, and with my cat sleeping on my back.