so much love in this house...
- Boyfriend : You look like a scarecrow when you sleep.
- Me : How rude.
- Boyfriend : Well you are sleeping with your arms stretched out and your mouth open ! That's a scarecrow. It's scary.
- Me : No - if you are gonna think I'm a scarecrow, your job as a Boyfriend is to say '' well if that ain't the prettiest scarecrow I've ever seen ! ''
- Boyfriend : I might not be doing my job as a Boyfriend properly, but you are doing a really good job at being a scarecrow. I'm scared. I'm flying away *leaves for the kitchen*
opposites attract?
we’re so different in some ways, where we find ourselves bickering over stupid things…it’s funny though because we pull out the different sides of each other and its kind of interesting. im seeing how people talk about the person you love bringing out the best and worst in you…because knowing someone so intimately, theyre bound to get to know those parts of yourself that aren’t so apparent…and when they’re brought to the surface….you get to realize that you need to change them…so they end up bring out the best. and loving someone so much, you always want to see them happy, so you find yourself doing anything to see them smile which makes you smile so it’s the best of you.
anyway, rambling. like i said, we’re different so we pull on each others personalities a little…but we’re similar enough to enjoy doing anything together…to just enjoy each others company and conversation, similar in our values, similar in our goals, etc.
The Tillamook Terror
Herewith, my accidental Recipe for Caseio-Oneiric Disaster.
Ingredients:
- 11 episodes of “Breaking Bad” in 2 days
- One sliced thumb in the preparation of…
- One 4-egg omelette sprinkled supra-liberally with sharp Tillamook cheddar
Instructions:
- Spread the TV show thickly over a couple of rainy days’ hiding inside. Allowing the first nine episodes to settle, retire to kitchen.
- Take approx. 2-3mm off the top of your thumb in dicing ham for the omelette. Apply sticking plaster.
- Cook omelette slowly with a stupidly deep layer of tangy, processed, plasticised, ready-grated Tillamook reclining across its surface. Ingest at a rate of knots.
- Return to TV and pile on the last two episodes for good measure.
- Journey to the land of Nod.
Results:
- The safety and warmth of your home is transformed into the clean but slightly claustrophobic, childishly-decorated motel room above the manager’s office space in a dingy, dark, commercial warehouse. Your companion contributes cantankerously to your bickering; dirt and mould encroaching everywhere in the cavernous corrugated corridors downstairs contrast with the washing-powder odours and creamy cleanliness of the living quarters. A smooth but suffocating sensation of stasis concurrently comforts and crushes.
- A change: cold dread creeps dryly down your spine as the realisation washes over you - they’re coming for you. They want the only thing that stands between you and abject failure, collapse and ruin. You’ll have to work out what it is. Go through the cupboards. Turn out the desk drawers. Find out. They’ll never stop! The only way out is to run. Both of you must somehow get away, the stash intact. Pack it up! Get out fast. Get in the car; find somewhere to hide - yet …
- There’s nowhere to go. You’ll run forever if only you can stay ahead of them. But they’re fast. No human’s that fast. The engine rising to a scream, you scramble onto the back seat and gaze nervously out back at the gathering pall of menace swarming up the road behind you. They’re almost with you - you were right, the killers run at superhuman speed, the very thought of their progress clotting, curdling into a swarming, gelatinous mass of insidious intent, transcending and transmuting their visceral physicality to solid steam streaming into the air around you. Tentacles tear from the core, grapple with the atmosphere, careering chaos crawling to the car, emerging hands erupting, spreading, fanning out like smoke and lightning and solidified swirl behind, the shape of a face materialising into an ectoplasmic head inside your suddenly porous escape capsule, ebbing and flowing, in and out, round and about, pushing and probing at the boundary, trying to outrun, engulf, ensnare, until - something shifts. A distant call? An edict from elsewhere requesting a retreat? But it’s a reluctant, recalcitrant recession, it won’t last long - and you can’t run this fast forever.
- You wake up staring, stark, suspended, the certain knowledge lodged deep in your gut that they’ll return, soon, swifter, stronger … how to guard against their primeval power?
- No answer. All hope is gone. Ignore the screaming of your senses and wait patiently for reality to reassert itself.
Just Rise Up
Even when I know I haven’t done anything wrong and it wasn’t my fault, I’m usually the first to apologize. I just can’t stand grudges and don’t want to let pride in the way. I think it’s more mature and better to rise above than to waste time bickering. But at the same time, I worry that people will start taking advantage of that and me and sometimes I’m tired of it all. but it’s all good. :)
Change is constant in everything - everything except for Islam.
We can debate day in and day out about the little things that we choose to fuss about and create chaos in the ummah but Islam will never change with accordance to our opinions. We will eventually practise the Islam that we believe in and we believe is right. Whatever that Islam may be, it will remain to be (inshaAllah) the religion that Muhammad (sallahu ‘alayhi wasalam) has taught us & the one religion that Allah subhanallah ta’ala has blessed us with.
If only we could stop bickering about these rulings and start to learn to be a servant, we will realise the sweetness of having the shahadah on the tip of our tongues.
