NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! *slow motion head shake*

Life, I find, is a bit of a bitch. It shows us wonders, and joys and happiness aplenty. It lets us taste its sweet nectar, revel carefree with joy in its beautiful gardens of...well, lovely things. But we see not how all this is merely an illusion. We accept it as it is, for it appears so beautiful and so exactly like that thing we've been looking around for. And so we are fooled, duped, circumnavigated, befuddled and made idiots of. It gives us a comfortable couch to spread out on, a warm rug for our feet, and settles us on it snugly. And we loosen up, we relax and we give in. Thats when it reveals itself as aforementioned word.

Bitch!

It bares its claws, waggles its fangs (aah yes i know not many bitches have fangs per se, but try and get with the feel will you?), and snatches the rug from beneath our feet. It pokes us here and it scars us there. Life, a blissful bed of roses, turns into a field of destruction and of death. Volcanoes replace the rose-beds and deep fissures appear where cobbled paths were. The sky turns black and blue, and storm clouds gang up. It mothers us pretty bad.

I know this for a fact. I'm living the life that is akin to hell, right now as we speak. But how do I tell you of the pain that has been inflicted upon me? How will you understand the depth of it? How can I begin to express it to you, so you know my suffering? When all hope is lost, and the foundations of our lives are shaken and torn down, in which direction do we turn? How do we stand, and face our troubles? On what do we stand, metaphorically? Do we abandon ship? Do we pray? Do we kill a few kittens to see if that works? Oh! My heart is heavy, and a drowsy numbness pains my fingers. Aaah! I fall.

*heavy thud*

*but not that heavy also, coz he is in decent shape, and not chubby-wubby like in past times, so...*

*moderately heavy-sounding light thud*

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Imaginary Pretty Nurse (Following the reasoning that she's imaginary, she might as well be pretty with it. Dont you think?) : What C&B is hopelessly hovering around, but finding increasingly difficult to express, is the recent succumbing to unknown sickness of his beloved, treasured and most loved iPod (dark, sexy, therapeutic, and arch-supporter at all times - all 2gb of it). It appears to be behaving erratically, and running short of strength, stamina and battery power in the space of a few minutes. The cause of dysfunctional behaviour is as yet unknown and reports are still pending. I wont lie to you. Its bad. Very bad. We are not at all very hopeful about this. All good wishes and condolences, in the form of monetary currency of high value and/or hugs, are in urgent demand. Comply, oh kind souls! *and she runs away, sobbing uncontrollably*