I am not accustomed to my surroundings. I keep bumping my foot on the side of a table. The table is made out of a sharp metal. I keep bleeding over the floor.
I am not allowed to throw tissue paper down the toilet. It blocks up the system. There are many many tissues in the waste paper bin that are covered in blood from my foot. I feel as thought the tissues are going to spill out all over the place at any minute.
I am looking at the corners of my room. There is a cockroach in one of them. I spend one minute standing on my bed, holding a slipper in my hand in case it moves. It doesn't move.
The cockroach is a rich chocolate colour. It looks like a shining medjool date. The cockroach is glistening. It is a foreign cockroach. It can survive a nuclear blast and having it's head cut off. I look at my slipper.
The cockroach is gone.
I read in a magazine once that for every one cockroach you see there are at least five million hiding just out of eye sight. They know where you are looking and just keep out of your field of vision. If I could turn round quick enough I would be able to see a shifting brown mass of cockroaches behind me, falling off the furniture into a crunchy mess on the marble floor. I think the only way to combat this is with CCTV. I don't have any CCTV.
I spend an hour smashing up the mirror in the bathroom carefully into two evenly sized pieces. I take two forks and some sellotape as well as two little plates. I fix the mirrors onto the plates. I attach the forks on each side of my head so that they stick out past my ears. I attach the mirror/plates to the forks.
I've got wing mirrors now. I'm a foreign, cockroach detecting mancar.
I don't see any more cockroaches all day - even in my wing mirrors.
When I go to sleep I take off my underwear and a cockroach falls out. I think it was the cockroach from before. It was trying to make it with my penis.