Stupid internet, why won’t you work?
I spend a good fifteen minutes messing around with the router and starting and restarting my laptop, and then hunting down and opening up a different browser.
OMG YES ITS WORKING
|Yeah that about sums up my expression.|
A huge pink and white message saying that we have consumed our credit limit for the month is being displayed on the screen. I stare at it, willing it to somehow change.
Ah well. What can I do now. This is a sign, you see, a sign from all the gods of academicity to me to start studying for this huge test that I have in September.
Deep breath. This is not the end.
This is not the end.
I spend the whole day sleeping. I wake up an hour before iftari, only to discover that I have wasted yet another day, a day that could’ve been spent studying.
After I’ve eaten I feel so full that I cannot move. I realize suddenly with a sinking sense of despair that I still have no internet.
All hope seems lost as I finally open up a ratty old FSc biology book and start studying about pons. Seriously, people-who-name-stuff-in-the-body, PONS? WTF, okay.
My brother and I are getting desperate.
He spends his time looking for books that he hasn’t already read in every corner and crevice of the house. I suggest that he read The Time Traveler’s Wife (which a friend lent to me, okay.) and he is on the verge of opening it up out of sheer desperation, but in the end his inflated ego prevents him from doing so. After a while I catch him reading Madame Bovary with a tortured expression on his face.
I spend my time staring at the FSc book. Its previous owner has underlined and highlighted practically the whole damn thing and has written her own annoying little footnotes everywhere. The fact that the said previous owner is now in her fourth year of med school at King Edward is not helping me.
I suddenly remember that my phone has GPRS. Oh happy day! I am saved! All I do is look at my notifications on Facebook and suddenly, I have no credit.
My brother and I decide to have a long-overdue Star Wars marathon. We’re ten minutes into it when we realize that soon our
villainous father will be home (he knows the internet’s out, okay? He knows and he is still refusing to pay the bill for next month. Evil I tell you. T__T) and that I am supposed to be studying so we retire to our respective rooms and our sad lives that now consist of Madame Bovary and moaning, respectively.
Dad is away to Faisloo (as in Faisalabad. Except Faisloo is so much cooler, right. Like Isloo.) for some legal shit so we plan a bahir-ki-iftari with Ammi. The bahir-ki-iftari goes as planned. It’s fun really, plus it takes our minds off our more distressing problems. On the way back we stop at the office of our internet-provider, the one that is nearest to our place. It is 7.45 pm. We pull up and the windows are dark. The office is closed. Upon further inquiry we discover that it won’t open till another forty five minutes.
We resign ourselves to our fate and return, dejected, to our sad sad lives.
I have progressed from pons to dinosaur fetuses. At least that’s what they look like to me. I’ve spent the day either staring at them or drifting off into unnecessary naps that last too long. I have exhausted the playlist of songs on my phone and am now listening to this on repeat.
People just ain’t no good.
My brother is useless. He can’t even drive these days because he broke his foot by bashing it against his guitar. Someday, when he’s a famous musician, they’ll tell this story.
I discover that the dinosaur fetuses are actually chicken. Fetuses.
All my friends think that I’ve died.
I put cherry-red lipstick on and practice my British accent.
Nothing seems to work. I’ve tried to crack the password on my neighbors’ wifi, but tariq1, coolboi and meganfox4eva don’t work.
Things look bleak.
Things look bleak.