Fiction: The La Di Da Lady Part 4

Part 4

If people could just stop themselves from butting into my life, that would be great.

I mean, really, what business is it of the next person’s if I’m not interested in taking their advice? They gave it, that’s it. Move on. And why is it so important to know everything about a situation? If I’ve told you something, that doesn’t mean you get to know anything about what happens next beyond either that it’s okay or it’s not.

And no, I don’t care if you’re my family and you just want to know. You have an agenda and you know it full well.

Three guesses for who I’m ranting at – and the first two don’t count. I don’t get why The Hurricane is so freaking invested in my life when she’s half a million times told me to go and live it on my own and not involve her.

I hate the way she constantly changes the rules to suit her. Stay out of her way until she wants something. Handle my own issues until she’s decided she’s in the mood to ‘help’.

Are all older sisters such meddling pains or is it just mine? Surely not all of them are the same, else we’d all end up killing our siblings in childhood.

Ugh, she’s coming back. I always have to watch out for that – she says her piece and then, after I’ve settled myself and put her nonsense out of my head, she comes back. It’s the most ridiculous habit. Are you a freaking YouTube video that needs to buffer?

Now hold up, before you start judging me for ‘being disrespectful’. Let me explain just what this fascinating lecture is about: my shelf life.

Oh, now you get it. Now the pitchforks are being put away.

See, the Hurricane’s still desperate to offload me – I think I already said that – but these days the situation’s a bit more dire. I’ve stopped dressing properly, for one. Yesterday I left the house with frizzy hair tied up in a top knot. The look on her face when I got home! I’ve never wished for a real-life screenshot button so much as I did at that moment. (No, not a camera. She’d notice a camera. She’s not that old!)

If I were in the mood to be charitable, I’d admit that it is out of character for me to leave the house ungroomed. I usually spend a quarter hour of my life straightening the bush that grows atop my head and then another half hour playing with eyeliner and the line. Not to mention picking an outfit!

But these days, I’ve been getting ready in a record ten minutes. I just don’t see the need to put in all that effort when I’m locked away in a tiny, dusty office, getting tsked at by middle-aged, bored secretaries all day.

My worst nightmare at the moment is turning into one of the other secretaries. The day I tsk at someone – for anything – is the day I open my own veins. I could not survive being such a miserable, resentful sack of skin. I’d rather stop living.

What was I saying…

Oh yeah. The Hurricane’s butting into my life. And she’s not satisfied with a simple “I had a long day at work.”

Nope, if I even hint at having problems at my lovely dead end job which will probably end up filling my lungs with mould, H (short for Hurricane) decides that it’s time to start freaking and issuing dire warnings about ungratefulness and warning me that she won’t allow – allow, like I’m a toddler – me to quit.

First of all, I’ve never quit a job in my life. I lost the last one because the company shut down, which is not my fault. And second, she complains about her job all the time! Her high-powered, comes with assistant job that she knows I’d give the hair off my head for. And I’m not the kind of girl who can pull off the shaved look.

I get that her job’s stressful. I do! But so’s mine. My dumb boss speaks only to my (covered) cleavage and talks as though I’m a particularly slow monkey whenever he asks me to do something. And then those other secretaries shove their work onto me so that they can continue gossiping about their bosses and those bosses’ wives all day.

A year and a half ago I was chilling in a penthouse and studying on my roof. I hate my life.

Crap. The Hurricane nearly saw this. She tried to grab my phone out right out of my hand! She’s so sensitive about people not listening to her, God. I was listening, anyway. Just not very closely.

Anyway, I exited out before she saw anything. Thank goodness. This dumb thing is for strangers on the internet, not my nosy sister. Even if it was her idea.

Ooh, wait, I never actually explained why I’m ranting at the void (and the one, probably lost person who keeps clicking on this stuff). A week ago, after reading some nonsense blog post about keeping a journal, The Hurricane came into my room and tossed a notebook at me. She wanted me to journal so I could “come to peace with life”.

Obviously, I didn’t use it. It’s 2019, who writes still? But, since she was making a gesture, I decided to meet her halfway. I’m keeping a journal, just on the Internet where I can type and be anonymous and whatever. The Hurricane will never find this dumb thing. Even if she did know where to find online journals, she’d never guess the name.

She thinks I’m not self-aware enough to realise that I’m a spoilt brat, see.

Okay, I’m bored now. Bye, random internet stranger/stalker. Enjoy… this. Whatever it is. Whinging? Complaining? Ranting?

I dunno. Whatever. I’m tired and I’m in a bad mood. I’m gonna go eat some ice cream from a carton and nag The Hurricane into making me mac n cheese – she refuses to share how she makes it taste so good!

Note: The reason I’m not posting regularly is:

1) I started a new job Alhamdulilah

2) I got very seriously ill. I’ve been to the doctor twice now and shukr things seem to be much, much better but I’ve decided to make my health a bigger priority. Shukran for understanding.

2 thoughts on “Fiction: The La Di Da Lady Part 4

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