Pile of Work

It's finally the second day of the June vacation, and though I've sworn on my weight that I'd begin on my revision (more like homework) immediately I think I've consciously conceded to the fact that I'd remain as a fat woman the rest of my life and lead a leisurely vacation. For now at least.

Right now there is a pile of work about one third the height of me standing threateningly on my table now, and another pile a quarter of my height on my swirly chair. Both piles stare at me as I sleep grudgingly as though I've neglected them, and they're just waiting to pounce on me when they get the chance. I haven't, it's just that I've left them to their own devices for the past month or so, and I'm just waiting for the auspicious hour to pack them. I do treat my items with respect.

My Pile-On-The-Table used to reside on my bed, but now that space has been taken over by my granny who has moved over for the time being. My granny is an interesting person. She doesn't like to sleep with her head at the side-where-heads-should-be, but rather at the side-where-feet-should-be. So when we sleep at night her feet are next to my face and vice versa. My grandmother is also extremely active on bed in that sometimes she likes to move a little and shift diagonally till she takes up 2/3 of the space on the bed. So, of course being the fillial grand-daughter I feel as if I'm forced to sleep like a straightened pretzel, considering my habits of sleeping without her. My mama sighed in my face when I informed her of my plight. She said I'd have to get used to sleeping with someone sooner or later (though she doubts anyone would like a girl who can't cook, wash and who trips over her own feet). And I said I doubt I'd have to sleep with someone who'd rather put his feet next to my face. But oh well life goes on and I'm still stuck with my granny anyway. And she's not all that bad because she loves me more than any of her other grandchildren, because I'm the only one who doesn't shout at her, ignore her or despise her. In fact I'm the only one who holds her hand when she walks, buys her stuff to eat now and then, listens to her stories, puts her stuff in my safe and etc. But it's nothing much as compared to how she used to clean my shit when I was small and ugly. And how she cooks for me now that I'm still small but pretty. It's not that I like her very much because some of her habits may be quite queer, but I admit I do love her for all that she has done for me, and for being my granny.

My pile of homework is now glaring at me. Perhaps I should give her (only women are capable of such ferocity) some attention now.