I am living proof that things can ALWAYS get much worse. As if all the suffering I have gone through since the start of 2008 was not enough, today more bad things happened.

I woke up with a badly sore throat and muscle ache all over, but I helped clear out a room that we wanted to paint. I kept going back and forth in the house to transfer objects from this room elsewhere. I hadn’t had breakfast yet because we were in a hurry to get the room ready. When the room was cleared out, my brother was dissembling a bed that remained there. I happened to walk by as he was working on the other end of the bed, and BAM!, a large wooden board fell on both my feet. The pain was excruciating. I remember leaning my hand against the wall and saying ‘it’s okay.’

When I woke up, my vision was blurry and my head hurt like a bitch. I saw my mother’s face, with tears in her eyes, and then I saw my brother wiping a damp cloth on my face and on my feet. I thought I was dreaming. My feet were killing me, and my head was buzzing. I asked them, ‘what happened?,’ and they just told me to stay still. I was very hot and I was trying to move the turtle neck I was wearing away from my neck. Everything hurt and I was very confused. Then I started crying.

Later on, I realized I had fainted and fell on the floor head-first. They tell me they thought I was okay when I leaned against the wall but that I suddenly seemed to want to stand tall and instead just dropped to the floor. When my head banged against the floor, I opened my eyes, then I was gone. Luckily, I didn’t bang my head on a sharp angle or any object. I got up after a while, bruised and shaken. I guess my system shut down because I was in a lot of pain, and the stress probably helped.

So, you see, 2008 is not my year. In addition to that early morning incident, which I remember every time I look at my blue-purple feet or try to move, I had a presentation to do at school and I did it because I did not want to lose the grades. I also learned that fixing my car will cost me 700 JD, which is obviously a fortune. Also, I have a research proposal to submit tomorrow and a midterm exam the day after.

I am extremely hating my life right now.

ANYONE who dares call me a pessimist as if it’s a bad thing will get bitchslapped by me until their nose bleeds maggots and their head becomes a hallowed ashtray for the butts of my cigarettes. That is a promise.

Lately, all the sleep I have been getting has been a series of absurd and torturous nightmares ending with my waking up struggling to breathe. That’s if I sleep at all — I didn’t sleep last night because of some stupid stupid overthinking that I did NOT ask my brain to do, and which caused me to stay home today because I could not zombie to work because then I would not have produced anything of value.

Then, amidst all that sleep deprivation and mental anxiety, I have to perform at school. I have reports and term papers to write, I have a presentation that’s worth a ton of grades to do, I have to think and write and act normal when all I want to say to all the people in my classes, professors and students alike is: Sod off! I do not care if you want to write about the social positions of students in the classroom, and I do not care if the professor thinks it’s a good idea, I do not care about the history of the American economy, and I do not give a rat’s ass about any of the babies in your bellies –you pregnant students– or your wedding plans –you engaged ones– and most of all, I do not like how bitchy uppish you have become JUST because you will graduate this semester, as if that gives you an automatic god status. So yes, don’t talk to me during breaks. I like it that way. Bitches.

But something tops all that. In the past two weeks, I have had THREE major bad things happen to my beautiful car. First her battery died, then I gave her side a good rub against a trash can I did not see while parking in the garage and thus she needs a paint job now, and today it seems I have to replace the whole transmission system which will cost me a fortune and which was not among my foreseen expenses for March. Interestingly, it all happened after a certain group of people known for their ‘evil eye powers’ saw her for the first time. Am I being irrationally superstitious? No, just stating the facts. What are the odds of your car getting thrice wrecked like that within the span of 14 days from the day a certain group known for their evil eye saw it? I don’t know, you tell me.

And let’s not forget my computer troubles. First I lost everything I had on it upon installing Ubuntu Linux. Then I couldn’t properly install it, so I had to ask for help and then it was properly installed. Then some idiot gave me a malicious command on the SUPPORT FORUMS, and he did it on purpose, and it erased everything on my hard disk AGAIN. That unjustified sick behavior really got to me, it even made me think of extreme ways to vindicate myself.

Oh, yeah, and let’s not forget that in January I lost my bellyring. I had planned to go to NYC in the summer to get re-pierced, but that is almost impossible now thanks to the above mentioned catastrophes that I have had to endure for the past three months since the start of 2008. There’s no going anywhere for me this summer. No break from social censorship, no spa for my sanity, nothing.

That’s not all. I am under a lot of pressure to magically know exactly what I want to do from now until the day I die, and I am supposed to make a huge decision which I am not equipped to make and which will affect every aspect of my life. I am even tired of complaining to people I know about the enormous shites I am facing. I see no point in talking about what’s bringing me down at a single moment, because I know in the next moment something more severe will happen to me and I will complain about it too.

I hate 2008 with all my heart, it is an anathema to me. This March has been worse than last May. As far as I see it, 2008 has been the worst year in my life thus far. And people DARE call me a pessimist with a sneer, as if I am rejecting the joys of life which are flowing into my lap at all times and choosing to be a brooding grump, as if pessimism is a disease of some sort. I call optimism in my case a disease, an obvious state of disconnection from reality. I don’t live in a bubble, you optimists you, I live in reality. Now go ahead, call me a pessimist and curl your lips, if you dare.

I discovered that the more active I am on my blog, the less frequently I write in my diary. I risk losing a lot of memories this way. I must stop before it is too late.

I discovered that I think too much. I overthink, if there is such an activity. It’s not my fault that I can overthink. Lately, I have been overthinking above my average overthinking rates, and it’s giving me difficulty-breathing nightmares and skin-picking fits. It’s not a happy state.

I also discovered that what I have been suffering from for years and years is actually a form of mania. It’s called Dermatillomania and I have it. The knowledge that there are other people who have the same feelings is comforting. The knowledge that I have a mental disorder, a form of mania, is disturbing. I guess it’s romantic in a really skewed way, but whatever, who’s got time to be romantic these days? I want it to go away. Been wanting it to go away for years. It’s still here.

I am wondering why I am still awake looking at pictures when I should have been sleeping for the past three hours. I must wake up early tomorrow to go spend the weekend in Karak. I am promised lots and lots of BBQing and Pepsi, and many siestas. Maybe a chameleon or two, if I am lucky. Maybe I will fall and crush my skull on a stone, who knows.

I want to take a break that lasts a few years. I do not want to socialize with anybody during this time. Just relax in a library overlooking a beach and have an infinite supply of flavored soda and shrimp. I also want to have a fast internet connection and a personal masseur who looks like Craig Ferguson or Johnny Depp or the guy I had a crush on during my freshman year at college.

Then there is the question of personal destiny. People assume, if you are outspoken and independent, that you know exactly where you are headed. They wait for you to make decisions pronto, and they expect you to understand them fully. Little do they know that you are playing it by ear, just learning the ropes like the amateur that you are, all of your superficial extravaganza aside.

And what do you do? You feel stuck, uncertain, unprepared. Then you moronically blog about it.

“My feelings for you shame me into silence. The truth of this and your name will never be revealed. It is you who has made me realize the failure of my life. The thought of you fills me with longing and at the same time, a burning humiliation that produces scar tissue and dead brain cells. Your existence mocks me and I am unable to confront this. You have no idea of any of this. None of this is your fault. It is completely with me. It is you who makes me see what I really am. I am weak and out of touch with myself.”

- Henry Rollins

To the people who visited us this evening:

Sod off! Your expensive car and your expensive clothes, your degrees and your social status, ALL mean nothing since they have obviously not improved your sickening attitudes towards a woman who could have, in a parallel universe, been a potential bride for your son.

You come to visit us, in our house, when you have already been told that I am not interested. Yet you come, and you make it appear like you want to genuinely get to know my family for whatever social purposes and you make it seem you understand that I am not going to be sized up like a sack of potatoes. You come and we receive you, then you dare ask why I am not present. You, old hag with a PhD, mother of a 30-something ‘independent‘ engineer looking for a wife, YOU bluntly say you want to see me so you can describe me to your son. How lowly of you! Do you think all women are as cheap and available as you once were?

Did they not teach you that women are not objects? That even if you find a 100 who are willing to serve you coffee when you honor them with your visit, and let you look at them up and down, and let you go back home and call your little momma’s boy and tell him “she has short hair, she’s petite and she has a nosering and a ton of earrings, we’re not buying”, that even if you find a 100 women letting you do that, you do NOT find that marriage worship in my house?

I know why you came. You thought you could embarrass me or my family with social crap. You thought if you came and asked for me, I would somehow be polite enough to go out and meet you because it would be socially inappropriate otherwise. In the meantime, do you know what I was doing in my room? I was studying in my pajamas and eating ice cream. You see, I do not care about you or about your little king, just as much as you do not care about my intelligence and feelings. Quid pro quo, mofos. This one is not so polite.

You wanted to see me and you didn’t. It’s offensive that you imagined I would be willing to be treated like that, but then again, you don’t even know me. Did you honestly think my family will force me to shyly parade in front of you? Or that they will shy away from telling you that I will NOT bother to see you because your king is not with you, and that even if he was, I will not see you anyway? Why did you lie then, and say that you wanted to get to know us only?

You, old hag –daughter of some minister, you must have done rounds like this before. I am sure you have a candidates’ list of all the houses and the girls you have seen for your ‘boy,’ and I am sure you looked at everything in these girls. I am sure you know exactly which one of them has a longish nose, which has big ears, which has a lisp, which has an attitude, which has boobs too small for your son’s taste; I am sure you know all that.

You expected me to join your list and be proud of it. You thought I would be happy because your son will consider me as an option, if I was lucky. You imagined that I will let you degrade me such that when the king finally decides to come do the rounds with you, to check out the candidates you shortlisted for him and size them up again, I will be on cloud number nine because, oh my god, a man I don’t know shit about is considering me for his wife.

By refusing to be another BODY on your list, I retained my value which balanced people appreciate. I am not yours to buy, and I will not be part of your king’s imaginary harem when you describe these other women to him. You do not know me, and you never will. I am above your petty list, your examining stares, your twisted sense of social conduct, your disgusting expectations. Moreover, I am kingdoms above your little king.

I am reading parts of The Edward Said Reader right now, for class.

There is brain sweat on the pages of the book.

This is exciting but

Quite exhausting.

It requires

Thinking.